


Never Shall I Ever Fall in Love

by Clockwork_Roses



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Audience Participation, Blackmail, Childhood Promise, Detective Noir, F/F, F/M, I guess I'm writing a romance?, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kidnapping, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Open Relationships, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Tags will be added as they become relevant, ambiguously fake dating, he makes bad decisions, kids don't be like Lanque, made by two people too cynical for childhood promises, oops it has themes and shit, relationships are a fuck, this story is full of assholes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2020-09-22 12:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 37,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork_Roses/pseuds/Clockwork_Roses
Summary: Alternia-- a stage set, and set again.  Most recently, from the perspective of this particular story, a certain especially friendly alien has been employed to nudge a number of individuals towards the paths that lead to their proper roles.And here among them is another pawn-- Mellah Weisse-- a failed psionic who conceals her caste to serve her ambition.  Driven both by pride and desperation, she has made a long-standing bargain with a mysterious Guardian: as she goes about her business, navigating the mysteries of Alternia, she serves from time to time to ensure that those who might stray from the course set out for them are pulled back into place.Until now, she has kept her end of this agreement quite satisfactorily.  But as we begin our tale, the terms of her contract are nearly up, and the conclusion of Miss Weisse’s time on her home planet will not pass so tranquilly-- not for her, nor for those who find themselves caught in the wake of her actions.And a promise uttered sweeps ago, naively, will reveal its true significance, to the detriment of the two who made it.





	1. -> Mellah: Introduce yourself.

Your name is Mellah Weisse.

Though you might be considered an adult in many cultures, you are not thought of one here, as the time of your Ascension, of which you are keenly aware, still lies nearly a sweep off. Trolls generally tend to be far ahead of the curve when it comes to maturity, but even compared to your peers, you have been especially quick to set aside the pastimes and follies of wigglers.

Which is why, rather than a hive adorned with an assortment of indicators of a variety of hobbies and interests, you are in your office, such as befits a true Personal Inquixecutor, complete with a prominent desk facing the door, at which you are now seated, looking over the details of your latest case before you close it and file away the record.

You are a consummate professional, and you spend your nights selling your services as a P.I. You investigate mysteries, barter information, and generally go about fixing things that have gone inconveniently for those with means. There may be no justice in the Alternian legal system, as they say, but for those with the caegars to cover your fees, there is you.

This latest case, for instance, had you working at the behest of some clown who had misplaced a worthless object of personal significance and wanted you to find it. A trivial affair, hardly befitting your various talents, but it paid well, and working for Alternia’s priest caste never hurt anyone’s social standing.

Speaking of castes and social standing, you are unusually upwardly mobile for an inhabitant of an empire so ruled by the color of one’s blood, especially given that yours carries a particular stigma. If they knew of the ocher running through your veins, your clients would turn up their cartilaginous nubs and your contacts refuse you their confidence and services alike. Many might ascribe it to a different cause-- a personal mistrust of you in particular.

So, ironically, to avoid this mistrust, you must deceive them. Take, for instance, the way you are currently dressed. As is your habit, you have styled yourself in the image of a mysterious figure-- some might even say, a dame. You wear all black, as is not unusual on Alternia, though less typical is the omission of hemotype-hued accents, and likewise your caste-specific sign. Your eyes, as well, remain hidden behind round dark glasses, since anyone who saw them would identify you immediately as a psionic, and a goldblood.

You like to think that you cut a dashing figure, with your long hair pinned elegantly at the back of your neck, your elbow-length gloves, your long sleeveless trench coat, and a little number underneath which, while long enough to preserve a sense of modesty, does nothing to hide the fact that you do, in fact, have strut sticks that go all the way up to there.

You finish up reviewing The Case of The Dirty Paintbrush and gather up the contents of the file from where they are spread across your desk in a particularly aesthetic disarray, fittingly striped by the dramatic shadows cast by the blinds of the window behind you. You rise from your seat to bring the file over to the appropriate set of metal filing drawers and add it to your meticulously categorized collection of similar records of past jobs, then return to your desk.

Your husktop, a slightly out-of-date model which occupies one corner of your desk, is your primary tool in your arcane study of the mysteries-- some might say curse, or even doom-- of your blood. Its presence reminds you that, as always, there are tasks to complete to further your research. You have come to a juncture in these where you can no longer proceed most effectively as a solitary actor, and thus, might do well to contact a potential partner. But you do not.

Perhaps gripped by a sentimental mood, you turn your attention instead to the customary half-consumed intoxicating beverage upon your desk. You lean back in your chair, picking up the glass and sipping from it. The stale amber liquid is bitter on your tongue as you swallow, and your thoughts drift to matters of the bloodpusher.

Out of habit and necessity, you are something of a solitary creature. You know people, but they don’t know you. Yet there is one among your acquaintances that might be considered to be something more. 

In the course of your work, you frequent any number of disreputable and sometimes even clandestine locales, where the gutter and the glitter meet. You run across any number of individuals, both distinguished and infamous, but your life and theirs usually share only the most fleeting of intersections. Several sweeps ago, you found your gaze meeting that of a particular troll time and time again.

Your initial motive for approaching one another was practical-- you wished to gauge each other's intent, to better estimate what nature of hindrance or threat you might present to one another, and so the two of you conspired to meet more privately. Yet almost instantly, you recognized in each other some kindred spirit, and so a certain bond was formed. Subsequent meetings only served to further emphasize and sharpen that recognition of likeness, and so the two of you grew closer and closer, and in those halcyon days, you conceived of a youthful exchange of a promise to cement your connection.

You met under the light of the twin moons, in a deserted lot at the edge of town. Wind rustled through the azure stands of pricklefronds and the stars shone softly overhead. The two of you stood, facing one another, hands clasped between you, fingers interlaced, trembling slightly.

Voices hesitant at first, but growing stronger as you went, you spoke your vow. The particulars of Alternian language and culture are such that, as you said it, the statement was quite convoluted, but had it been spoken by a human, it would have been quite simple:

“Never shall I ever fall in love.”


	2. ->Mellah: Speak with your benefactor.

By some unfortunate chance, you became an orphan at a young age-- a dangerous predicament for one of your species, and _especially_ your caste. While you would like to believe that you have survived since then purely on your ruthlessness and wit, you owe a great deal of your success to a figure of even greater mystery than yourself who elected to act as a Guardian of sorts to you. Despite any misgivings you might have about his intentions, you have benefitted from this arrangement, and have even struck a bargain with him, in the hope of securing a future for yourself.

He speaks with you precisely when he wishes to, never mind your wishes or convenience, and would you look at that?

He’s messaging you right now! What a fortunate and entirely coincidental occurrence.

Ah, Miss Weisse.

orphicConatus: yes, may I help you?

Is it not enough to desire your company?

OC: no, indeed, while I am sure my Company may be pleasant enough, I do not wish to delude Myself about the Nature of our Arrangement,

Ah yes, ever the mercenary spirit. You know, I quite admire that about you. For all your lies, you rarely tell them to yourself.

OC: indeed, to do So would be counterproductive,

Quite. Take, for instance, our aforementioned bargain. Your deadline is fast approaching, is it not?

OC: It is, yes,

And how much time have you earned?

OC: seven Sweeps, three Perigrees,

Ah, but you do not like to be reminded of this. Will you accept my most sincere apologies?

OC: no Harm meant, I am sure,

You play so sweetly at manners, Miss Weisse. Were I not nigh omniscient, I might miss the icy sentiments hidden behind your every response. But I digress.

OC: I am afraid that You do, indeed, what is It that You to speak with Me about?

I merely wished to inform you that I will have some opportunities for you soon, as per our arrangement.

OC: ah,

‘and to remind You of how little Choice You have in the Matter’? You wound me, in thought if not in speech.

OC: would You deny such Motive, then?

It would be most impolite to do otherwise, don’t you think?

OC: quite,

Well, the time has come for this exchange to end. I remain, as ever, your benevolent Guardian.

OC: and I, your humble Servant,

The mysterious window in which your Guardian’s correspondence alway appears vanishes at the end of your exchange with him, leaving you staring at a history of the more mundane messages which you have sent and received on your palmhusk. One in particular stands out to you and causes a little frown of concern to tug at the corner of your mouth.

The troll with whom you share that very relationship you were just contemplating has not replied to your latest missive. And so, just as that message warned, you are going to have to investigate.


	3. -> Mellah: Open the Case of the Missing Moirail.

Whyever would anyone think that you had a moirail? Wasn’t your commitment to a lack of romantic engagement made exceedingly clear in--

You could go on in this vein, but in fact, you know perfectly well who is being referred to here.

He isn’t your moirail, as would be perfectly clear to anyone who had been at all attentive to your exposition on the subject.

Associate? Confederate? Acquaintance? Yes.

Moirail? No.

The oath at the very foundation of your connection to one another negates this possibility.

Not that it troubles you, particularly, when someone makes such an assumption about the nature of your relationship. You’ve hardly been private about it, given that you both see the benefit of arriving to parties together (knowing that you won’t leave as such) and turning heads. What’s the point of showing up, if you’re not the sharpest couple in the room? So it’s only logical to assume that you would be, well, a couple.

He, on the other hand, is somewhat more particular about the subject. Were he to witness someone refer to the two of you as being bonded in the pale quadrant, well. It could be quite entertaining. Perhaps you should keep that in mind.

But this is all somewhat off topic.

The case is an informal one, concerning a personal matter, but you open it anyways.

This is what you know: his last message to you indicated that he arrived home safely, and you have no reason to doubt the veracity of if. After that, he stopped responding to you, and after two nights of this silence, which is your agreed-upon period for such things, you sent him another message to remind him of this. He has not replied; further attempts at correspondence would be both impolite and pointless.

The situation now requires further action.


	4. ->Mellah: Search for him using the arcane arts.

Presumably, this means making use of the abilities unique to your blood caste.

Searching for someone is not a task these gifts would be well-suited for in their common usage, even if you were naturally adept with them, and, with one notable exception, you are not. Your strength here lies in knowledge, not in power.

Which is precisely why you are much more capable of using them to look for someone than the common user.

You pull off one elbow-length glove to reveal a band wrapped around your wrist. It might pass for an item of jewelry, except that one end is anchored in your flesh. At a touch, it uncoils, revealing itself to be some sort of electronic port or cable.

This device, which makes use of the psychic abilities particular to your caste, is the product of your life’s work on the subject, and the most rudimentary and controlled form of the neural interface, a technology that lies at the very bloodpusher of the Alternian empire. Her Imperial Condescension may bear the royal fuchsia in her veins, but her Empire bleeds gold, as they say

Among other things, the device allows you to connect, in a very literal and personal way, to the internet. Plugging it into your husktop, you are flooded with all manner of sensory feedback. It isn’t unpleasant, but it takes you a moment to get your bearings. If you wanted, you could imagine yourself in a world built of glowing symbols floating against a void.

From here, you are able to sift through digital information much more quickly and thoroughly than you would be by normal means. You search the broad scope of social media and the landscape of Goregle for any mention of your quarry more recent than your own contact with him, and return nothing substantive.

You leave the digital realm, disconnecting in both a figurative and physical manner. The device returns to a coil around your wrist, and the glove returns to your hand, concealing it.


	5. ->Mellah: Consult mutual acquaintance.

The obvious first step, given the conditions of his disappearance, would be to visit his hive, but there’s a slight difficulty there. You know where he lives, but you don’t know _where_ he lives. That is, you have a sense of the place, but not its location.

However, you do know a gal.

Knowing guys and gals who can do what you need them to is kind of your thing. Perhaps coincidentally, this one is a mutual acquaintance. Pulling out your palmhusk, you shoot her a message.

\-- orphicConatus [OC] began trolling sapphoConvicted [TA] \--

OC: if I may trouble You for a Moment, I have a Favor to ask,

SC: oh Look

SC: its everyone’s favorite enigma

SC: you finaLLy Looking to partake in my wares?

OC: I must admit, That is not the Purpose of my current Inquiry,

SC: yeah sure

SC: LoL man im never gonna see a payout from that wager

OC: am I supposed to be shocked that there are Caegars riding on the Matter?

SC: you?

SC: who the fuck knows

OC: regardless, I need some Information, and You know that I am more than capable of paying You back in Kind,

SC: sure you are

SC: what is it youre Looking to know?

OC: I need Directions to the Cloister,

SC: weLL shit

SC: that aint exactLy obscure inteL

OC: It is not, and I would not consider my Debt to You to be large for providing It, but I know You to be capable of Discretion,

SC: you goin for business or pLeasure?

OC: as I said, I know You to be capable of Discretion,

SC: ugh why do i even ask

SC: its aLways business with you

OC: We are all Creatures of Habit,

OC: my Apologies if mine displease You,

SC: Lmao whatever

SC: no chitin off my hide

SC: if you show up to aLL the parties

SC: but dont know how to cut Loose

OC: perhaps, You could teach me Sometime, when there are not more pressing Concerns,

OC: however, that Time is not Tonight,

SC: yeah sure

SC: iLL give you directions to the cLoister

SC: and iLL keep mum about it

SC: on the off chance that anyone wants to know

OC: thank You, I will not be remiss in my Payment

SC: if you see bronya…

SC: Lemme know how she seems

OC: indeed, I shall do So,

\-- orphicConatus [OC] ceased trolling sapphoConvicted [TA] \--

Leaving your office, you head to your scuttlebuggy parked outside. LIke many of your possessions (those necessary to maintain your personal appearance aside) it is somewhat worn but highly functional. Normally, a luxury like a private scuttlebuggy would be far out of the reach of someone like you, but two things shift the balance in your favor; first, mobility is a significant advantage in your line of work, and second, you don’t particularly care what is normal for “someone like you”.

You have means, motive, and opportunity to go to the cloister.

Settling yourself inside, you program the directions you received from Elwurd. The trip will take some time, but fortunately, you brought reading material.


	6. ->Mellah: Read torrid romance.

The cover features a number of youthful female trolls wearing what a human might recognize as Catholic schoolgirl fetish outfits.

This--

You have no idea how this got here. It really isn’t your usual fare, and there are plenty of more productive things you could be reading. But, it’s what you have.

Apparently.

You open the volume, not bothering with the lengthy title-- something something, The Cloister and the Bloodpusher, something something-- and see your not-moirail’s initials on the inside cover. Well, that’s a mystery no one thought was a mystery, and didn’t even need solving, but you solved it, because you’re just that good. Quick work for an accomplished Personal Inquixecutor like yourself.

That thought was so pointlessly self-aggrandizing, you actually sigh and rub your temples at how unamused you are. Better get to reading before you come up with any more brilliant commentary about your life.

The story is about what you’d expect, lurid and unnecessarily complicated. The author sure has some… interesting ideas about what Jades get up to in the brooding caverns. If you had any sort of standards of literary merit, they might be somewhat affronted by this material, but fortunately, you do not.

All the characters are girls because of course they are. Even the flushed romantic partner from outside that the protagonist finds injured and lost within the caves and nurses back to health. The two are terribly tragic, mourning the affair between them that can never be. Meanwhile, the protagonist has a potential blackrom partner in a troublemaking Jade who goes about throwing obstacles in everyone’s way and inciting a very bland sort of rebellion over… not being allowed to dance? You’re not sure where that plot point came from.

The most engaging parts of the reading experience, by far, are the scribbled comments dotting the margins, comparing real people unflatteringly to the fictional ones, or making snide observations about characters and plot. You find them to be far more revealing about their writer than you suspect he realizes, and as the novel progresses, they are increasingly imbued with a certain bitter melancholy, before leaving off altogether in the climax.

For all the literary offenses that the book perpetrates, its greatest sin is unquestionably how terribly, terribly conventional it is. The protagonist and her love interest stumble across another (also female) outsider conveniently stranded, and the protagonist helps facilitate the serendipitous matespritship between the two, while the dancing miscreant learns the error of her ways and nobly sacrifices her life to quell the unrest she has engendered. Everyone ends happy with their imperially-mandated lot in life, or dead. Sometimes both.

You really detest Alternian romance novels.

For the greater length of your journey, you have been travelling through a wide desert, your route giving considerable berth to the mesas and canyons and particularly interesting rock formations that run through the landscape. But now, your vehicle slows as you draw nearer to one particular geological landmark, a cliff that rises purple-grey from the flat ground like the sheared-off side of a mountain, with a pronounced dark cleft running down its face.

You have arrived at your destination.


	7. -> Mellah: Investigate the scene of the… crime?

Oh, you very much doubt any sort of crime has happened here. Trolls taking one another captive is not, with a very few exceptions, an act upon which the Empire of Alternia looks particularly harshly, in and of itself. And as this abduction has very little likelihood of hindering the Empire’s operations in any way-- quite the opposite, if anything-- there is really no way in which it could be considered criminal.

There isn’t exactly parking outside the mouth of the vast cave that leads to the brooding caverns, but you do your best, positioning your scuttlebuggy to one side, nearly parallel to the steep rock face from which the entrance yawns. Your rifle through your glovebox, selecting a number of useful items, which include but are not limited to:

  * a luminescent baton
  * a set of lockpicking devices
  * a utility knife
  * the key to your office

and stash them in the pockets of your trench coat.

You lock your scuttlebuggy and approach your destination.

Although you are a member of a nocturnal species, the darkness of the cave is significantly deeper than the darkness of the night outside, and it is not long before you require the use of your luminescent baton to find your way. Despite the branching structure of the caves and the fact that you have never come here before, there is little danger that you will become lost, as one path is distinctly more worn than any others.

The possibility of discovery hangs over you, yet is somewhat lightened by the knowledge that any Jade you meet sneaking out will be at least as motivated to avoid detection as you are sneaking in. It might be an open secret that they all make their way to the surface from time to time, but it is still forbidden to leave the cloister. Fortunately, however, you encounter no one before the passage opens onto the brooding caverns proper.

You’ve never been here before, but it isn’t designed to be too hard to figure out, and once you come across the habitation corridors lined with doors to individual respiteblocks, you find that they are helpfully marked with their owners’ signs. Continuing to stride purposefully, you pass through them until you find the one bearing that of your quarry.

Trying the door, you find it unlocked. While convenient, this is hardly a promising sign. And, just as you anticipated, he isn’t here. You step inside and pull said door closed behind you, so that you may search for clues without interruption.

The contents of the block are somewhat in disarray, but this hardly constitutes signs of struggle. No, those would be the streaks of blood on the floor.

It’s not much, just a few drops smeared out towards the door. The color has darkened since it dried, but you still recognize it as Jade. Not that this tells you much of anything, you’re in the Cloister after all. It could have been spilled by the troll you’re looking for, or it could have been from his abductor. The only thing it doesn’t suggest is an outsider removing him from the caverns altogether.

You could go through your quarry’s belongings, but given how unlikely such a search is to turn up anything particularly useful-- you doubt the abductor stashed a note at the bottom of his undergarments drawer-- doing so seems needlessly invasive. A final sweep of the block confirms that he hasn’t left any convenient diagrams of where he’s being kept or by whom, and so it’s time to leave.

On to the secondary location.

Now, if you were an abductee being held captive in the depths of a subterranean nunnery, where would you be? Not right off a busy habitation corridor, where you might alert any pasing troll, that’s for certain. Think… deeper. Go deeper.

You descend into the dungeon.

Where all prisoners are kept, of course.

You make a few false starts, as you really have no idea where you’re going, and the organization of the jade compound isn’t immediately obvious to you. Now and again, you hear footsteps and have to duck aside or avert your course to avoid a confrontation.

Not many paths lead down, however, and it isn’t long before you’re standing in front of a door marked with an unfamiliar jade sign. Could this be what you’re looking for? You’re not certain, but it’s as good a place to look as any.

The door is locked, but this is hardly an obstacle for you.

However, you elect first to try knocking. If the room’s owner is present, speaking with her will be the swiftest way to tell if you’ve located your quarry, and if she is not, knocking will be the fastest way of finding out.

You rap smartly on the door. A few moments of silence meets you before you hear a familiar voice-- you know now both that you’ve found what you’re looking for and that the room’s owner isn’t present.

“What the fuck?”

The room’s owner was not, you think, expecting visitors, and its occupant seems to be aware of this.

“You are not, I would take it, free to leave?” you respond.

“Mellah?”

“indeed,”

Speaking through the door, his speech is muffled, and you cannot tell if it is hoarse or not.

“What are you eVen doing here?”

“performing a daring Rescue, or so it would seem,”

“Humble as alWays, aren’t you?”

You smile privately to yourself. “of course,”

Pulling out your lockpicking kit, you set to work on the door’s security system. It’s not too difficult, and you are well enough practiced at this sort of thing that one by one, the mechanisms give way to your efforts.

But just as the lock clicks open, footsteps echo down the hall.

Looks like you’re not going to be able to avoid a confrontation of some sort.


	8. ->Mellah: Activate GREEN SUN powers.

No.

Absolutely not.

You would not do that even if it were something you could feasibly do.

Your connection to the GREEN SUN and your ability to draw upon its power is not something that requires preparation, nor is its use up to your discretion.

What’s more, you unequivocally refuse to depend upon it. It’s gotten you out of a few close scrapes, sure. Saved your life, even.

But that’s the thing.

The one pulling the strings seems to want you around, for now. As for you? You take what you can get. And so, in times of desperate need, that power is yours, until it’s not. But you won't rely on it.

You will grant no one and nothing such sovereignty over you.

Besides, psionic fights just aren’t your style.  



	9. ->Mellah: Strife?

There’s no need for anything like that.

You turn to face the approaching Jadeblood, giving every impression that you are precisely where you are supposed to be. Confusion darts across the face of the approaching troll as she tries to reconcile your attitude with how very much you shouldn’t be there. You notice the sign on her caste-appropriate sweater vest matches the one on the door, indicating that she is the room's owner.

“oh Good,” you greet her, “I was just hoping You would come along,”

You don’t have a lot to work with, here. No useful names to drop, and the cloister is too insular a community for you to bluff your way through as someone that etiquette might demand she pretend to remember.

The confusion can’t last forever, but while it does, she defaults to anger. “-i think you should tell me! who you are! -and what you think! You are doing here!!!”

“I merely came as a Favor to a Friend, He said He was visiting your Place earlier this Evening,”

“-!!! hes not supposed to!!! -!!! he doesnt!!!”

“I am certain that Everything can be settled quite easily, without causing further Trouble,”

Oh dear, you don’t think that was the right thing to say. The look in her eyes sharpens considerably and you see one hand twitch towards a pocket. You probably don’t want to find out what she’s carrying there. However, you conceal your alarm. The jadeblood before you is most likely weighing the costs and benefits of killing you, but she hasn’t decided one way or another yet, and you think you can tip the scales in your favor.

“-dont think i dont know what youre doing!” She grins menacingly.

“and what might That be?”

“-!!!youre lying!!!”

You scowl. “on the Contrary, I really would like to solve our little Dilemma as quickly and calmly as possible.”

“-oh??? our little dilemma???” She steps forward, like you’re a cornered prey she’s bearing down on. “-and what might that be?”

What she doesn’t anticipate is that you have an ace up your sleeve. An ace witness, that is. If she wants to kill you, there’s going to be complications. Without looking, you reach back, unlatching her door and pushing it open.

“You see, if You think that This can all be swept under the decorative Floorplane, I believe that You will quickly find Yourself in the midst of a cascading Failure, and That would be most unfortunate, would It not?”

Her expression transforms into a mixture of shock, outrage and horror. You figure you’ve bought yourself the time you need, and sure enough, she steps back.

“-!!! you!!!” She takes a step back. “-bronyas going to deal with you!”

She turns and dashes away. Bronya. You know that name.

In the meantime, what was it she saw behind you?


	10. ->Mellah: Inspect dungeon.

You look at the mess of a place in slight distaste. It’s probably not entirely fair to call it a dungeon. Really more or a bookhive with some dungeon-themed decor.

Rather a lot of said decor, really. Which you have every reason to believe is fully functional. Also, the object of your search is manacled by one wrist to the opposite wall, and appears to be covered in blood, possibly his own.

So maybe it is entirely fair to call it a dungeon.

Either way, it looks like you’ve cracked the case.

Lanque Bombyx is probably not having the greatest night right now, given that he is currently chained to the wall of someone else’s bookhive dungeon. While he is bound only by one wrist, there is a particular cruelty to it-- the chain is short and attached to the wall at a height such that, while it allows for the prisoner to either stand or sit, their arm will always be restrained in an awkward position, likely painful when they’ve been there for any length of time.

And you have every reason to suspect that he’s been here a while.

Were your positions reversed, he might say something about how this could have been the result of an excellent night, but you are moderately more subtle.

“should I expect to find You in this State often?”

He glares at you. “CleVer, Mellah. Really charming.”

“not in the Mood?”

“That sadistic shreW Will be back any minute and she Won’t be alone.”

“yes, I am aware, and furthermore, I have my Doubts as to whether We can make our Exit before She returns,”

“Then don’t you think you ought to pick up the pace, darling?”

“It will not, I believe, be necessary,” You keep your tone low and even. “are You injured?”

“I’ll be able to Walk, once I’m not shackled to the Wall.”

“I take That to mean yes, but not badly,”

“It means I Would really fucking like to not be shackled to the Wall, and you knoW it.”

“of course, I have been remiss in my--”

“SaVe it.”

With a sly tilt of your head, you do. Kneeling beside him, you pull out your lockpicking set once more and get to work on the heavy metal cuff around his wrist.

From this close, you can’t help but notice that the inner forearm above where he is chained is marred by a number of long, shallow scratches, probably the source of most of the blood smeared around. Not at all life threatening, but they’re going to leave some nasty scars. All things considered, you don’t think the scratches were the work of his captor. You don’t bother to mention it.

You finish with the lock and the manacle slides away, leaving Lanque free to stretch the formerly restrained limb languidly-- out of care, or a tendency for the dramatic, or both. You stand, extending a hand to help him do likewise. There is a certain irony to the gesture-- such real aid as you are offering, he is in no position to refuse. As such, he eyes your hand skeptically.

“Really, Mellah?”

“if I may be so bold,”

But he takes your hand all the same, and the two of you pretend to ignore how much he leans on you as he stands.

Once more, footsteps sound in the corridor behind you, and you turn to face whoever has arrived to get in your way.


	11. ->Bronya: Get in the way.

When you told Lynera to be sure that Lanque didn’t cause any more trouble, you didn’t expect it to end with him covered in blood and chained to the wall of her studyblock. In retrospect, that was a pretty big oversight on your part. Maybe you had entertained the possibility, but it wasn’t really real to you until faced with the end result.

What’s worse, now an outsider is involved. It’s all you can do to keep calm as the mystery troll smiles pleasantly at you, round dark glasses concealing the degree to which that smile extends to her eyes, or more specifically, doesn’t.

“Bronya, I presume?”

At your shoulder, Lynera lets out a squeak of protest, but you wave her silent. As much as you value and support her contributions to the cloister, you know she isn’t always the most… constructive about certain things. Like meeting new trolls.

You match the stranger’s smile.

“Did Lynera mention my name?”

“She did, yes,”

You can tell, between the way the stranger’s attention shifts to Lynera and the way the jade shuffles her feet that Lynera regrets this, and that the mystery troll knew that she would.

“And what should I call you?” you ask.

“Mellah Weisse, personal Inquixecutor,”

“Well, Miss Weisse, I’m sorry you had to have this introduction to our caverns. We jades do our best to be 1. Caring 2. Neutral 3. Drama-free.”

The scene before you is indicative of non of these qualities. Mellah raises an eyebrow from behind her shades, but refrains from commenting.

“While I know this all must be rather alarming,” Lanque snorts derisively, “I must ask that you leave the matter up to us.”

You press your palms together and bounce on the balls of your feet. “vV Jadeblood problems are best dealt with by jadebloods! Vv”   
  



	12. ->Lanque: Provoke.

You sneer at Bronya’s holier-than-thou pronouncement.

“Oh yes, this Was being dealt With marVelously.”

Lynera squawks in protest, again, and everyone ignores her, again. You do your best to project an attitude of cool disdain, though you doubt that, given present circumstances, anyone’s actually going to buy it.

Mellah makes no overt reaction, but you know her well enough to see the tension that appears in the line of her shoulders. She’s not the type to care what does or doesn’t get said, so long as she gets to walk away in the end. You, on the other hand, aren’t about to waste the opportunity of having someone standing between you and Bronya.

Speaking of which, look who’s dropping the Little Miss Perfect act.

“No! Obviously not! But I actually try to move on when something goes wrong! Instead of digging in my claws and making everyone as miserable as possible!”

“Funny, isn’t it, the Way those things just seem to keep going Wrong around you?”

“I don’t have to take this from you.”

“No, by all means, just keep listening to your yes-girl With the not-so-secret torture block. I’m sure it Won’t lead to any more unfortunate incidents for you to moVe on from.”

Just as you expected, Bronya lunges forward, and Mellah intercedes.

Bristling at the gall of another troll daring to get in her way, the jadeblood hisses, “Don’t you see what he’s--”

Mellah cuts her off. “indeed I do see It, however, It does not matter,”

You, in turn, see the moment when Bronya truly forgets herself; forgets that she is dealing with an outsider, not one of “her” jades-- not  _ you _ \-- and forgets that you and Lynera are both watching. You see her raise her hand to strike. And you see what she does not, that Mellah, far from flinching, shifts her posture slightly, readying for a fight.


	13. ->Mellah: Strife??

The altercation is over in an instant, almost before it has begun, and the four of you are left in the aftermath. Bronya staggers back, looking down in bafflement at the bright emerald points that spring up on her arm as she struggles to comprehend what just happened.

“vV You BIT me?? Vv”

You wipe your lips with the back of your hand. The gesture is mostly for show, as you only barely drew blood.

“now that It is established that I will not be ordered about and scolded as if You were my Lusus, I hope that We may resolve our current Situation in a civil Manner,”

From behind Bronya, the studyblock owner finds her voice. “-!!!you bit her!!! -how is that civil???”

“given that I was only acting in Response to an Attack on her Part, I fail to see your Point,”

“-an attack???- ill show you--”

Lynera reaches into her pocket and is halfway through pulling out whatever is concealed there, when--

“vV LYNERA NO!!! Vv”

Bronya throws an arm out in front of the other jade, and you withdraw your hand from your own pocket, leaving your office key concealed there.

“She’s right,” the older girl adds, somewhat shakily. “Trying to hit her was 1. unbecoming 2. unwarranted 3. unproductive. I… should not have done that.”

Lanque, never being one to refrain from stepping on a broken limb, mutters something about “keeps happening,” which you pretend not to hear.

“now,” you say, voice laced with false sincerity, “shall We examine the Sequence of Events through which Things have come to This?”

Lynera speaks up first. “-!!!she had to!!!”

You rest your chin upon the curled fingers of one hand, elbow cupped in the other. “She had to how, precisely?”

Before Bronya has a chance to stop her, Lynera doubles down. “-!!!he made her do it!!!”

“really, now? and here I was under the Impression that Mister Bombyx was most averse to the Prospect of being restrained, whyever would He try to arrange it for Himself?”

At this, you can see that even Lynera has realized how her argument sounds, and she sinks into an embarrassed silence. Bronya is left with the necessity of offering up her own version of events and a poor foundation on which to start, just as you intended. She tries to explain.

“Miss Weisse is correct again. I was not forced into this position.” she concedes.

“Oh is that What’s going on here?”

Lanque smirks a little more cruelly, while you continue to meet Bronya’s eyes with the absolute most deadpan stare.

“If that’s What you Wanted, you really Weren’t going about it in a Very--”

“vV Shut up! Vv”

You put one finger to your lips in mock concern. “You know, it really does not seem advisable for You to continue getting worked up like This,”

She sighs. “I know.”   
  



	14. ->Bronya: Try harder.

You can feel yourself losing control of the situation, but you can’t stop it, and it just keeps happening. You take a deep breath.

“It’s like this. 1. He kept sneaking out of the cloister, which is against the rules on its own. 2. While outside, he conducts himself in a most unbecoming manner, and sooner or later that was going to follow him back. 3. If all that wasn’t bad enough, he was getting other jades involved. 4. I was afraid he was going to get some or all of the rest of us culled. 5. I didn’t know what else to do.”

It was probably too much to hope that this admission might elicit some sympathetic response from the outsider, that she would at least see fit to play a gentler role than the interrogator she’s now acting like. It doesn’t, she doesn’t, and while she is no taller than you are, if anything a bit shorter, it feels as if she is looking down at you from a great height.

“has It occurred to You,” she says, enunciating every word with great precision, “that a disobedient Subordinate who wishes to leave is a Problem that solves Itself?”

You shake your head. You hadn’t.

“well,” she continues, “I suggest You consider the Idea, meanwhile, I will be taking Lanque off your Claws,”

Though she says this last line in the same tone as everything preceding it, to you it’s like being doused with cold water.

“vV You can’t! Vv”

“no?”

“vV Jades can’t just leave the cloister! Vv”

“if You think I would lend Credence to any such Restrictions, You are sorely mistaken, likewise if You believe that You retain any Leverage over the current Situation, unless You plan on calling the Drones?”

Your bloodpusher gives a little flutter of alarm. Calling in drones to come stomp and snoop around the private corners of the cloister would be disastrous for you and your _ totally legal _ side projects. But surely she couldn’t know why, could she? There's no way she could-- But of course, the answer is staring you right in the expression plate, quite literally. Lanque could have told her. Still, the thought of what might happen if you don’t go to the authorities-- jades are _ not allowed _ to leave once cloistered, and you can’t pretend you don’t know it’s happening, like you do when everyone sneaks out.

“the Choice is yours,”

You are paralyzed by the decision. All of the options before you carry with them the distinct probability of danger and destruction for everything you’ve worked for and everyone you care about.

“then, while You endeavour to make It, would You be so good as to step aside, please?”

Against your better judgement, you shuffle out of the way, and the outsider-- Mellah Weisse-- departs with Lanque. According to her, that means the problem is solved, right? Lynera pats your shoulder tentatively and you brush her hand away. The minute Lanque and Mellah are out of auricular canal range, you have some very stern words for her. Sure it was a difficult situation, but she made it so much worse.

Because the alternative would be admitting that you set her up for it. You’ve admitted enough mistakes for today. Any more and you might have to admit that you have no idea what you’re doing running the cloister, and no attitude, no matter how positive, will make up for the guidance you never got on the subject.

It’s hard, trying to be a mom to everyone else (when your civilization doesn’t even have the concept of a mom) and never getting the chance to grow up yourself. It’s hard, and the people who understand don’t care, and the people who care don’t understand.  
  



	15. ->Mellah: Abscond.

You very definitely had the entire situation under control, and weren’t dreading the consequences of a misstep throughout the entire ordeal.

Certainly.

But you’re still glad to be out of the torture dungeon, espcially, as the weight of the key in your pocket reminds you, without having to resort to violence. Well, much violence, anyways.

It could have gone a lot worse.

From his expression, you’re not sure if your companion appreciates this fact.

“So, What noW?”

You pull out your palmhusk to check the time, and a greeting in familiar white text appears.

“if I may have a Moment?” You gesture at your palmhusk, but do not wait for a reply.

If I may have a moment of your time?

orphicConatus: oddly enough, my Thoughts exactly, however do You do It?

You say this as if you have forgotten that I am nigh-omniscient, but that is not the case.

OC: no, indeed I have not,

OC: forgive Me for my Attempts at polite Conversation,

Pettiness does not become you.

OC: certainly not,

OC: now, for What did You need a Moment of my Time?

I have a favor to ask of you, as per our arrangement.

OC: ask away,

You are to deliver your set of lockpicking devices to a young woman here at the cloister by the name of Daraya Jonjet.

OC: and my Price?

Four perigrees.

OC: You do realize, not only are You asking at a most inconvenient Juncture, but I will need to replace the Devices on my Own, afterwards,

You say this is an inconvenient juncture, yet you are already at the cloister. The errand is hardly out of your way.

OC: I am at the Cloister, and I wish most fervently not to be, as I am fully aware that further Complications to my current Case may arise the longer I remain,

OC: as such, I believe that six Perigrees would be adequate compensation,

Then my counteroffer is five, which we both know you will accept. Why must you insist on trying to negotiate when the outcome is already decided?

OC: odd that You would say that It is at my Insistance, when You refuse to open with the Offer which You know that I will accept,

And so our contraposition continues.

OC: surely, Your realize that I do not harbor any Animosity towards You in this Regard, only that I cannot afford to do Otherwise,

Certainly. Well then, as you are aware, I will know when the task is done. There will be no need for further exchange between us until then.

You stow your palmhusk in one of the many pockets of your sleeveless trench coat.

“It would appear that I have an Errand to run before We depart,”

“So WhateVer you Were doing there Was Work related, Was it?”

“You know that I cannot disclose such Details to Anyone, not even to You,”

He rolls his eyes. “WhateVer Was I thinking?”

“I should not be long,” you assure him, “and in the Meantime, You have the Opportunity to gather whatever personal Effects You desire to bring with You,”

This doesn’t seem to placate him so much as to distract him with the reminder that, once you depart, he may never return to the caverns.

“if You wish to hurry Matters along, You might tell Me where I might locate Daraya Jonjet,”

“Oh, her?”

He gives you directions and the two of you part ways.


	16. ->Lynera: Be ashamed of your words and deeds.

You’ve got a good head start on that.

With the intruder-- and Lanque-- gone, Bronya has turned on you, giving you a long lecture about how the cloister is the one-- the ONE-- place on Alternia not ruled by brutality and cruelty and how, HOW, could you violate the sanctuary of that by chaining a fellow jadeblood to the wall?

You want to remind her that she’s the one who asked you to deal with him, she never said how, but you don’t think that would go over well. Besides, you’re too busy crying to say anything.

Having Bronya yelling at you is the worst possible thing. She is good and kind and you have worked so, so hard to earn her approval. If you had any hidden powers of teleportation or invisibility, they would surely kick in right about now, so deeply do you wish with every fiber of your being that you weren’t in this time and place.

But deep down, you knew it was all a lie. You weren’t really that girl, sweet and helpful, always right where she needed you right when she needed you there. You wanted more from her than that, more than you suspected she was willing to give, to you least of all, so you were just hiding those feelings beneath the mask of the perfect second-in-command.

And other feelings as well, like the thrill you felt at having Lanque captive and at your mercy. He’ll never forgive you, you know that, but while it lasted he couldn’t turn you away, couldn’t dismiss you, couldn’t _ stop _ you, and you had begun to humor the wish that maybe, he would see past the whole chained to the wall thing, would see you as worthwhile, exciting even.

No!

What are you thinking?

You’re better than that. You’ve been working-- hard-- at being better than that. At not digging your claws into dark wishes that are never enough and leave you empty and miserable and full of shame. At opening up and maybe not being such a bitch all the time.

And then Bronya came to you with a request that played to all your worst strengths, and you couldn’t refuse her.

It isn’t fair.

Bronya’s lecture, meanwhile, has come to a close.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she asks, hands on her hips.

You stare at the floor, shaking your head as a sob escapes your lips.

“Well then, I’ll leave you here to think about what you’ve done.” And with a final sigh, she departs.

You do think. Not about what you’ve done, but about how unfair it all is. You tried  _ so hard _ . You got  _ so far _ . And in the end? It all came to this, like it didn’t even matter. That can’t be right.

Was Bronya wrong to put it all on you? She should never have--

NO.

Bronya is good and kind, she absolutely doesn’t look for anyone to blame when things go wrong so that she doesn’t have to admit how out of her depth she is taking care of the whole cloister. Definitely not. She wasn’t _ wrong _ to blame someone, just… off target.

You’re not to blame. You were in an impossible situation, and the one who put you there, the root of all this problem-- Lanque.

He always pushes, always flaunts the rules. And look how things ended up-- he’s out there, abandoning the cloister and his responsibilities, with that intruder. It couldn’t have come out better if he’d planned it. Who’s to say he didn’t?

And _ her _. The way she twisted your words, the way she lied, the way she made you look to Bronya.

You’re very certain, now, that all of this is their fault.


	17. ->Mellah: Make the delivery.

The door Lanque’s instructions send you to is much more centrally located within the cloister, and on the way you encounter a number of jade girls. They throw odd looks your way, but don’t say anything, and you act as if you know where you’re going and have every right to be there.

Your destination is hardly a secluded or private area, and sounds from other inhabitants drift through the habitation corridor as you rap smartly on the door. A girl trying her absolute hardest to look punk while still adhering to the typical jade attire answers. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the door frame, making a show of how deeply unimpressed she is by your presence. Charming.

“Daraya Jonjet, I presume?”

“∆ what’s an outsider like you doing here? ∇”

“an Associate of mine has tasked Me with delivery of a certain Package to You,”

“∆ pfft doing someone else’s errands, that’s lame ∇”

“aren’t You the least Bit curious about what this Delivery entails, and from Whom It comes?”

The girl rolls her eyes, trying to hide her obvious curiosity. “∆∆∆ ughhh ∇∇∇” She slouches even more aggressively. “∆ who cares? ∇”

You give her a sweet smile to keep from laughing at the transparent nature of her act. “as It would happen, I am not being paid to kindle the Interest of a disaffected teenage Girl, so, I do not, in fact, care,”

Reaching into your coat, you extract a bundle wrapped in a spare reusable nosewipe plane-- you always keep an extra or two, just in case. Her eyes widen as she reaches for it in spite of herself.

“∆ what--”

You cut her off. “I would not reveal the Contents to Anyone, if I were You,”

“ ∆ you’re probably just making a big deal out of nothing ∇”

She’s not wrong, exactly, but then again, you suspect that to her, lockpicking devices are a suitably big deal. You shrug enigmatically.

“You will discover That for Yourself in due Time,”

You hand over the package and, task completed, you leave, hearing her door shut behind you. When you’re out of sight of her block, you pull out your palmhusk and, sure enough, a line of white text greets you.

You have some questions about what you’ve just taken part in. He’s not prone to giving useful answers, but he’s all you’ve got.

You have performed your task admirably, I see.

orphicConatus: have I, then?

Ah, do you intend to ask me the purpose of your actions? Don’t bother yourself with it.

OC: and here I thought You prided Yourself on never needing to hide behind a Veil of Secrecy,

This is no matter of secrecy, I am merely commanding events on a scale which you would find impossible to conceive of.

OC: and what Part does Miss Jonjet’s Possession of my lockpicking Devices serve in these Events?

She shall be freer to move, when the time comes, and as such, more able to fulfill an obligation of mine.

OC: an Obligation of yours?

As I said before, the scale on which these actions will play out renders them irrelevant to you. It will be hundreds of sweeps before this act will come to fruition, and you will be long dead by then.

OC: indeed, It would be most foolish to think that I would see such Events come to pass,

Indeed. Well, I shall add five perigrees to the time you have earned, as we settled upon.

OC: will That be All?

There is one thing about which I would offer you a word of caution.

OC: and what would That be?

The time you have bargained for is not guaranteed. You will still have to claim it for your own.

OC: You have mentioned this Caveat before,

And now, the moment it will become relevant draws near. If you continue to be diligent in your studies, you will be well prepared when that moment arrives.

OC: and until then, I remain your faithful Retainer,

  
  



	18. ->Mellah: Ascend from caverns.

You reunite with your associate at an agreed-upon location, and he talks you into carrying his things for him. By your estimation, necessity has pared him down to essentials-- a few changes of clothes, toiletries, palmhusk and accessories. If his packing was heavier or your guardian's words lighter on your mind, you might have put up a firmer resistance, but as it is you accept his luggage with only a seemingly idle comment.

“It is remarkable, is It not, how much One can survive without?”

He tries to give you a look of disdain and fails somewhat. Your words, for once, cut too close to the bone for him to brush off so easily. The two of you proceed in silence, until you emerge into the dim light of the Alternian predawn.

You load yourselves and the scant luggage into your scuttlebuggy, enter in the directions for your hive, and drive off into the night. The red-tinged desert your vehicle speeds through is empty, and quiet. You watch the scenery for a while, but your mind wanders.

“You know, This will not alter your impending Fate upon Ascension,”

“I am aWare.”

His tone is bitter, that bitterness born from both his fate itself and your bringing it up, as the topic has long gone unspoken between you.

“We both know of your designated Role, and so, in the Interest of Fairness, I believe that You should know what I have learned of Mine,”

“Really.”

“indeed, You see, as a Psionic, my Powers are too insubstantial to be made Use of in the Alternian Fleet,”

“You, Weak?” He hisses with incredulity. Given a number of your past exploits together, this attitude is hardly surprising.

“Anomalies aside, yes, my Powers are exceptionally weak, and Anomalies included, They are far too inconsistent to be reliably exploited,”

“Lucky for you then, isn’t it?” He gazes out of the opposite window.

“not particularly, no, given that the Alternative is to be salvaged for Parts, essentially,”


	19. ->Lanque: Retort.

You round on her, meeting the same dispassionate silhouette as always.

“Why Would you eVen tell me something like this?”

“as I stated earlier, my Intent is that of Fairness,”

“Oh, yes, dumping this on me right noW is definitely fair,” you sneer. You could keep going, out of habit, but you don’t.

“there is now one fewer Aspects of Knowledge in which there may be Inequality between Us,”

“Well, you’ll forgiVe me if I don’t go sobbing oVer your fate instead of my oWn.”

“I would not consider You obligated in such a Manner, no,”

She tilts her head in one of those characteristically graceful and dignified gestures that are the reason people fall for her and, once they realise that such expressions do not flow from some great vein of inner sentiment, are the reason they grow tired of her.

For all that you share with her the cynical and calculating nature which allows her to accept your declared lack of consideration for her predicament, you are still taken aback by how readily she shows that side of herself to you, and how often.

“Of course you Wouldn't.”

As far as you’re concerned, that’s all that needs to be said about the matter, but it would seem that your companion does not agree.

“speaking of your own Fate, do You intend to follow the Path laid out before You?” 

“I don’t exactly haVe a choice, noW do I?”


	20. ->Mellah: Expound upon the nature of choice.

“the Choice is yours, as there is always a Choice, and to every Choice, there is always a Price,”

Lanque’s response is predictably hostile. “That’s a load of hoofbeast manure and We both knoW it.”

“I do not say This to make light of the Situation, nor to suggest that any available Option will have an unambiguously positive Outcome, quite the Opposite, really, I only suggest that You consider your possible Courses of Action carefully before resigning Yourself to a single Terminus,” you pause for a moment before continuing. “especially when the Anticipation of that Outcome is so unbearable, You would do Anything to distract yourself from Contemplation thereof,”

“And here I thought you kneW better than to fuck With me, Mellah,” he snaps.

You allow silence to fall around you. You were aware, before you began, that he was not going to find this conversation the least bit agreeable, least of all now, but you do not regret having had it. 

One might say, with a certain bitter irony, that there is a mercy in facing no future at all. It makes the decision not to follow that path fairly straightforward. Resisting will, at worst, hasten your death slightly.

Meanwhile, Lanque, for all he hates his preordained duty with every fiber of his being, still risks the possibility of an even worse outcome if he does not surrender to that fate. The decision remains a difficult one, and it is for this reason that he has avoided it so thoroughly.

You are well aware of this. You acknowledge the relative simplicity of the choice you have made, the freedom that your impending doom has granted you. In the immortal words of Jonpol Sartre; 

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose”

You’re almost entirely sure Jonpol Sartre said that.

After a while, he reaches out, taking your hand in his own, and you respond in kind, curling your fingers around his. Though you are loathe to admit it, you find the gesture reassuring. He may still hold your presumption against you, but at least for now, he won’t make you pay for it.


	21. ->Mellah: Get to your hive already.

The stark plains of the Alternian wilds give way to suburbs, and then the city rises around you. It would be entirely in keeping with your  profession as Personal Inquixecutor if you lived in some excrementhole in a rough part of town, or even slept in your office, but you’ve done well for yourself, and your hive is a nice place in an upscale part of town. Your neighbors are mostly tealbloods, and you gather that they believe you to be one as well.

You let Lanque up to your floor of the hivestem, once more carrying his luggage, exchanging idle comments and gossip as you go. Halfway down your habitation corridor, you pass one of your aforementioned neighbors, and are reminded that your companion is still disheveled and covered in blood by the way their gaze flicks over him and away. Teals talk, and you can only imagine what they say about you.

As you open the door to your hive, the air of disdain emanating from Lanque as he surveys the main block is palpable. It’s stark-- not fashionably minimalist, just plain. You don’t have a lot of time or thought to spare for interior decorating.

Before he has the opportunity to comment, you wave towards one of a cluster of doors to one side of the space. “the guest Respiteblock is through the first Door, the ablution Block the Second, help Yourself to anything in the Hunger Trunk, and do let Me know if You need Anything else,”

“Well, you’re the last person I Would expect to haVe a guest respiteblock.”

“You will not have the Distinction of being the first Fugitive that I harbor, as doing so is something of a professional Hazard for Me,”

From the way he starts at hearing the word “fugitive,” you gather that it hasn’t really sunk in yet-- the magnitude of what he’s getting away with, and that he’s actually going to get away with it.

Seeing him off, you retire to your own respiteblock as the night draws to a close.


	22. ->Mellah: Dream.

You make your preparations for slumber; at the last, removing your glasses and folding them on a bedside table, then unpinning your long, wild hair from its habitual knot. Stepping into your recuperacoon, you sink into the sopor slime and the oblivion of sleep. The emptiness that fills your mind in repose is thick, heavy. The images that drift to you come like strange fish struggling through a viscous ocean.

There is a symbol, an emblem. Its meaning is unknown to you. It is perhaps akin to the arcane shapes you have etched out, repeatedly, to runes, to patterns scratched into the dirt of a wooded clearing in preparation for a ritual.

an Obligation

You race through the trees, chasing or being chased, there is little difference to you. Your body elongates into that of a beast, a white-feathered stag. The pounding of your hooves thunders in your ears, and overhead the stars--

Stars--

(these are the outsiders, always)

A sun, vast, larger than an entire universe. You stare into it, its light--

which burns but does not blind

which courses through your veins, searing away all else

You stare into it, its pulsating glow which is the beat of your own bloodpusher

You stare into it

(and a time to choose between them)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some lines borrowed from Eavan Boland's poem, "Outside History"


	23. -> Mellah: Enter the digital world.

You rise from slumber, shaking off the follies of sleep, and prepare yourself for the various tasks before you. Another night, another, well, night. You’re hoarding time here, not Caegars. You go through the routine of making yourself presentable and then emerge into the main block of your hive. You prepare a pot of coffee and bring a cup to the small meal slat by the window overlooking the city. You’ve seen no sign of your new hiveguest, but you would be deeply unsurprised to discover that he generally keeps later hours than you do.

Sipping the bitter brown liquid, you contemplate your plans for the day. You intend to visit your office, to handle a few of the more mundane matters of your business and on the off chance that someone comes by with a tip or a new case for you.

Afterwards, there’s a bit of a soiree that will be the perfect scene for several items of business you mean to conduct, and since your partner in that particular genre of crime now owes you a considerable favor, you have every reason to attend. And just to be sure that all of your contacts show up, you have a trail to lay. You have been somewhat remiss in your studies, and as your Guardian has indicated that they will be instrumental in taking advantage of your bargain with him, you are inclined to remedy that situation.

Finishing up your coffee, you leave a note for your aforementioned hiveguest:

> “as You have likely surmised from my Absence, I have departed to work for the Night, if You would be so kind, do send me a Line once you are awake, I have a Proposition for you,”

Then you depart, traveling to your office by scuttlebuggy as is your custom. The journey isn’t far, and you could walk, you suppose, but you have an image to maintain. If the color of your blood matched the status you aspire to, you could grab a ride on a public transport route, but you do not, in fact, have a death wish.

You work just down the slightly less reputable end of the road from the local courthive, and if your hivestem is in mostly teal territory, your office stands deep in the green-blue bloodpusher-land of paper-pushing book wigglers. The building you work in is large, as are most in the area, an imposing edifice of long dramatic lines that humans with an eye for architecture might identify as art deco, but not the most fastidiously maintained. More than once, you have wondered to yourself if it once had some other purpose, or if it was built with this air of dilapidated grandeur. Either way, it suits you just fine.

Your office lies on one of the lower stories, packed together among countless others down a long narrow corridor along which your heels click as you traverse it. You settle once more at your desk, and before you can engage in more personal matters, you check to see if any messages have come in since you departed the previous night. You could have accessed them from your palmhusk, certainly, but you like to maintain at least the appearance of having some sort of a life outside of your profession. Otherwise, how would your clients feel special when you worked their case in your off-hours?

While you were away, you received a number of inquiries about possible future cases, mostly from trolls who probably can’t afford you. A glance your payment contract should be enough to dissuade them.

The messages sent, you rise from your desk to lock the door to your office and draw the shade over the window at the top. Compared to your brief tryst with the neural interface the previous evening, your current undertaking presents much greater chance of discovery. And if someone were to walk in on you, cou can only imagine what the consequences would be, but you’d rather not.

Once more, you remove the glove from one hand, using the device concealed beneath to connect, again, to your computer and the web beyond. At first, the usual strings of glowing emerald symbols in a black void rise to meet you. But to make a proper first impression, you need something more fitting to appear as than a ghost in the code.

At your direction, the virtual landscape shifts. Around you, the image of a forest appears, and within it, your disembodied consciousness is given semblance. It’s really nothing like being a person in a space, though you suspect that, with enough refinement, it might be indistinguishable from the real thing. What a frightening and philosophically rich possibility.

The form you have devised for yourself resembles your own for the most part, though with darker skin, pitch black eyes, and far more prominent horns, a branching crown of antlers. Moreover, its hair is down, as yours so rarely is, and it wears nothing but swirling gold markings across its skin.

Skyclad, for ritual purposes, of course.

None of this was strictly necessary, but you like to keep up appearances, and creating this was a suitable enough way to gain familiarity with the interface.


	24. -> Mallek: Wake up.

After another all-day coding session, you had fallen asleep at your husktop (again). You wrench yourself awake, reaching for another stimulant capsule to keep yourself going, but when you catch sight of your screen, you freeze.

“what the--;”

Words appear to the side of the troll-like figure which now occupies your monitor looking astonishingly lifelike for a simple animated doll.

hello, Ouraboros,

“how do you know that name?” You find yourself speaking rather than typing in reply, but whoever’s behind this must have access to your mic, because a response appears on screen.

I know a Lot about You, I’ve been wanting to meet You for some Time,

You can tell that there’s something odd about the image on screen. It’s too reactive, the expressions and body language too nuanced for a standard VR chat program. A little frown of concentration tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“what = going on here?”

I suspect you already know that, as It is the one Thing that You have been chasing, the one Thing that You cannot do alone,

“as if; organic interface with digital systems != possible”

You might be surprised, as I have uncovered Secrets which I cannot reveal here,

“right;”

follow the White Rabbit,

The screen goes blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section (as well as at least one future one) includes dialog lifted from The Matrix, written by the Wachowskis, sometimes in its original form and sometimes modified. This is meant as a reference, and I make no claim to having written it as original.


	25. -> Mellah: Fondly regard negotiation.

The interaction over, you withdraw the connection from your prospective collaborator’s system, lingering for a moment in your own corner of the digital realm to contemplate. Things have gone about as well as you could hope for, so far. You aren’t assured of his cooperation, but you have reason to consider it likely. You weren’t lying when you said you know a lot about him, and one thing your investigations have revealed is that he’s not working alone by choice.

Aside from that, as a technical proof of concept, your little stunt has performed admirably. Using the neural interface, you were able to manipulate your avatar with lifelike precision, and to bypass a high-grade security system with the ease of stepping over a knee-high lawnring delineator.

The capabilities of the little device anchored in the flesh of your wrist are truly impressive, and if you weren’t already used to having even more staggering power dropped at your feet, you might be taken aback. As it is, you feel only a grim sort of confidence. Of course you would be capable of seeing the potential here, and of course it would have remained heretofore untapped. If you’re surprised at all, it’s only that there isn’t some arbitrary limitation sitting between you and whatever you can do with it.

That will come later.

You let the visual flair of your avatar and its forest setting fade away, then emerge into the real world of your office.

Blinking back into consciousness of your physical surroundings, you see that you have two new messages waiting for you. Surely, some unseen onlooker might interject, you could have received these messages while in the digital world, as they are, in fact, digital messages? And indeed you could have, were it your habit to allow distraction into every moment of your life, but it is not.

Neither of the messages strike you as particularly urgent, so you go about the routine of wrapping up the business with the neural interface before addressing them. You coax the device on your wrist back into its customary coil and replace the glove that conceals it, unlock the door, and withdraw the shade from the window.

Returning to your desk, you see that one message is from your hiveguest, as anticipated, and one is a follow-up from a prospective client.


	26. ->Mellah: Respond to your hiveguest.

No need to leave him in suspense.

[tempestuousCalyptra began trolling orphicConatus]

TC: I see you take “rise With the moons, go to bed With the sun” Very seriously.

OC: “early to Sleep and You’ll miss all the Fun” I’m certain,

OC: I know that it is fashionable not to retire for the Morning before One faces significant Risk of being burned or blinded, but it is not the Routine to which I am accustomed,

TC: It neVer ceases to amaze me hoW often I’m in the company of someone so…

TC: ConVentional.

OC: One might hazard a Guess that the Cause lies with my Reluctance to take Offense at such Remarks,

TC: What, do you Want me to groVel in remorse?

OC: never, though You are somewhat in my Debt after the Events of last Night,

TC: I take it that you Want something from me, or you Wouldn’t bring it up.

OC: oh, I would hate for You to be terribly put out,

OC: and as such, I would not require of You to do Anything to which You would not be otherwise inclined,

TC: And yet you still feel the need to call in a faVor.

OC: We are, in the End, all Creatures of Habit,

OC: and Ours has been, frequently, to make certain Appearances together,

TC: So, When is this party you’re asking me out to?

OC: later Tonight,

TC: I Won’t ask Why you’re going.

TC: It’s Work, it’s alWays Work.

OC: well, some among Us must labor for Acceptance within the well-respected Classes,

OC: We cannot all get there by Looks alone,

TC: I appreciate the flattery, really I do, but don’t think I don’t knoW What you’re doing.

OC: don’t pretend that You aren’t interested, and I very much doubt that You have made other Plans,

TC: Of fucking course I haVen’t.

TC: On account of haVing just had my entire life upended.

OC: I suppose, if You are truly inconvenienced by my Invitation, I can attend alone,

OC: though it is sure to be terribly boring,

OC: since, as You made clear earlier, such is in my Nature to be,

TC: True, you Would be lost Without me.

OC: ever so lost,

TC: HoW long until this eVent?

OC: a While yet, I still have a number of Matters to which I must attend,

TC: I suppose I should leaVe you to them, then.

OC: indeed, until then,

[tempestuousCalyptra ceased trolling orphicConatus]

You leave the exchange with a small, private smile.


	27. ->Mellah: Respond to your new client.

You open the message expecting to see a plea for charity and appeals to your sense of justice, but instead there is a single line that stops you dead.

i can pay lmao

You must admit, it is the gold blood revealed by their hemotyping that gives you pause. Not because you would refuse to work for one of your own caste, as it is your policy to accept anyone with the Caegars to cover your fees. Some might tout this practice as egalitarian, but you understand how things work around here well enough to know better. It doesn’t take outright descrimination to keep your clientele to the cooler end of the hemospectrum.

Rather, your hesitation stems from that very knowledge: you’ve made the choice, time and time again, to prioritize your own well-being over that of others in order to get where you are. Anyone of any considerable social standing has. Highbloods are granted a certain ignorance of this, but a fellow goldblood?

If they can afford you retainer fee, they will have no such illusions.

In the immortal words of Troll Ralph Ellison:

“Behold, I send you forth as sheep among wolves; be ye wise as serpents, yet innocent as doves”

Honestly, you’re not entirely certain you got that quote right. Doves? Wolves? Serpents? In all your sweeps of research, you’ve never run across such things. But one thing you’re most assured of, they must all add up to a truly fearsome creature.

After all, you should know; you are just such a creature.

Recalling yourself from the train of thought which you have allowed to carry you far from the course of your purpose, your reply to the message.

[orphicConatus [OC] began trolling transcendentAxiom [TA]]

OC: well then, there is only one Condition which I would have You meet,

TA: and whats that

OC: that I meet with You in person to discuss the Case before I begin my Investigation,

TA: oh man

TA: can we just not

OC: I am afraid that I must insist,

TA: id be totally down its just

TA: my schedules packed with never fucking leaving my hive and not giving randos my info

TA: you know how it is right lmao

OC: if You find this Request impossible, You are welcome to seek out another Inquixecutor to handle the matter in question,

TA: bullshit

TA: you know as well as i do

TA: no one else works for gutterbloods

OC: indeed, the Choice is yours,

TA: fine

You proceed to arrange to meet in your office the following night, settle a few assorted matters around the office, such as ordering a replacement set of lockpicking devices, and take a short stroll to arrange a certain delivery, then spend the remainder of the time before your other prior engagement investigating your new client. You like to know what you’re walking into, and what you find makes you glad that you bothered. How much were they planning on telling you? Surely less than you know now.

When you pack up and descend back to your scuttlebuggy to head hiveward, it’s by the dictate of the timekeeping disc on the wall, not an exhaustion of the topic of your research.

You alert Lanque to your impending arrival as you depart your office and head hive-wards. When you get there, he is nowhere to be seen, but you are unsurprised. He takes these kinds of preparations seriously. As do you, though to a somewhat lesser degree. You go to your respiteblock and set about making yourself presentable.

You don’t need to change clothes, as you haven’t done anything that would render your current ones unfit, and your all-black ensemble of mid-length dress, sleeveless trenchcoat, and elbow-length gloves is a timeless classic, suitable for any occasion. But you can always accessorize, particularly when it comes to jewelry-- gold, the standard for affluence or the affectation thereof.

And that just leaves makeup.


	28. ->Mellah: Do the Makeup Thing.

Oh, yes.

You are absolutely doing the makeup thing.

You put some cosmetics on before you went to the office, of course, but that was regular evening wear, and now? Now, you are going hunting.

You aren’t much of a natural beauty, no one looks your way twice if you don’t craft your image carefully. But with the right touches, well...

Makeup is one of the things you invest in, beyond the barest functionality. It pays to make a good first impression, after all. Especially when that impression is writing checks that your blood can’t cash. Which is why you have perfected the art of coming across as the right sort of person. And that means shopping like the right sort of person, in certain areas.

Setting your glasses down, you seat yourself at your cosmetics plateau, the cheap imitation tree flesh surface a poor backdrop for the rows upon neatly ordered rows of high quality products which it holds. Reaching for your standard palette of cool neutrals, you apply a dark smokey eye, then draw a cold stroke of black liquid liner along the line of your lashes to end in razor-sharp wings. It won’t be entirely visible behind your glasses, but it’s enough to make an impression even so.

You make various other adjustments, then come, at last, to your lips. A troll’s lips are naturally black. But they can always be blacker, and a lady with a true sense of style knows this. Well, except when you’re done with yours. You look in the mirror, with a certain savage satisfaction, and ask yourself, how much more black could they be, and the answer is none. None more black.

You are dark and dangerous and alluring and damned if you don’t pull it off.

You’re all set to be the fake girlfriend, and rendezvous with your date. Though he won’t be ready yet. He would never miss the chance to make you wait. It would be in quite poor form if he did.

You knock on his door to let him know that you are, in fact, waiting, then retire to the main block of your hive. He does not leave you there alone for long, so he must not be feeling terribly put out by anything at the moment.

You see that he can’t help but strike a bit of a pose as he enters, nails bright crimson to your more conservative black when he splays them against the door frame, nominally to support himself leaning against it but really just to show off. He’s gorgeous and he knows he’s gorgeous and he’s good at making sure that everyone who so much as glances his way knows it too.

The effect isn’t lost on you, exactly, but you’re too familiar to see him for anything other than the person you know him to be.

As you meet him, brushing an invisible speck of dust off the open collar of his shirt, you notice him fidgeting with the cuff of one sleeve.

“did Night-time hold You down by the Wrists?” you ask, a grin playing at the corner of your lips.

“HaVe I eVer mentioned What an absolute bitch you can be?”

“oh, only constantly,” You wrap your arm around his, hand resting inside the crook of his elbow, tucking yourself in at his side as you look up at him, only the slightest and most private hint of wickedness tinting your sweet and solicitous smile.

“shall We?” you ask, and wait for him to lead you out of the hive.


	29. ->Mallek: Follow the white rabbit.

You’re still sorting through how, exactly, your systems got hacked for that VR chat, but the results are coming back extremely irregular. Perplexing, even. That little comment about organic integration keeps haunting your thoughts, but you push it away. Neural interface isn’t real, just an especially persistent myth on a few coding forums you lurk around.

And even if it was… why? Why would someone go to so much trouble to make you aware of it? What good would it do them-- what good would it do you?

You’re interrupted in your thoughts by a message appearing on your palmhusk.

(| hey man |)

(| you got a minute |)

Your bloodpusher does a little wobble of concern. Dieman. You’re usually the one to contact him, not the other way around.

yeah; sure; what = up;

(| i’m downstairs |)

(| i got something for you |)

one sec; ill buzz you up;

You meet him by the vertical transport shaft with a casual grin and friendly fist-bump.

“so; what = this mystery delivery;”

“(| here |)” He pulls a folded writing plane out from inside his vest. “(| i was hired to give this to you |)”

Your amiable facade fades as you take the proffered object and unfold it to see a picture of a lapine lusus with an address written underneath, and the words, “Rabbit, Rabbit,”

Did you just get doxxed?

“hey; you said someone hired you;”

“(| yeah |)” Dieman looks nervous, and you don’t blame him, because right about now, you’re wondering if you just got him wrapped up in some bad shit. “(| i was just going about my night looking for a **Delectable Weiner** over by the teal offices and some lady came up and asked if i knew you |)”

You frown. Dieman doesn’t seem to have picked up on it, but you’d rate the odds of the troll who hired him not knowing the answer to her question before she asked it as extremely low.

“(| i said i did and she said she had a note for you and she’d pay me in cash if i gave it to you |)”

“yeah; thanks man; i gotta go now;”

Dieman looks upset. “(| is something wrong |)”

“nah; i just gotta do stuff; and things;”

You shoo-shove him back into the vertical transport shaft and when the doors close you kinda regret it-- he doesn’t deserve it, but you’re too bothered right now, staring down at the note still clutched in your claws.

You can’t ignore this. She wanted your attention, whoever she is, and now she’s got it.

  



	30. -> Mellah: Arrive at the party.

The joint is already jumping by the time you roll up, exactly as you knew it would be. No point in making an entrance if there’s no one there to see it. You’re in a well-to-do neighborhood, cerulean, to be precise. The hives are large, separated by spacious lawnrings, and you would wonder what the neighbors think of the thumping bass drifting from your destination, but said neighbors are probably too cool to make a fuss about it, when the perpetrator is one of their own.

You let Lanque help you out of the scuttlebuggy and take your place at his side as you proceed to the hive, attracting the attention of stragglers to the gathering lingering outside as you go.

At the door, you’re met by a troll you’ve seen around, but don’t really know, who waves you on into the hive. Inside, the lights are dim, and trolls cluster together, talking or dancing in spite of the thoroughly un-danceable music. The milieu here tends towards all-black outfits, sometimes accented with bright red, often with an excess of buckles and belts, and a tendency towards unconventional hair and lots of piercings.

Many of the attendees are holding cups of what, by the smell, you would guess to be a variety of intoxicating beverages, and knowing what kind of scene this is, you know there’s likely to be stronger substances on offer as well, but it’s still too early and you’re still too near the entry for that sort of thing to be on open display.

Lanque glances down at his arm, where your hand is still wrapped. “I take it you still Want my company.”

“for a little While, yes, while I speak with a certain Individual,”

He replies with a small shrug, playing at ambivalence.

As you pass by the crowds on your way further into the hive, you note with satisfaction the many heads turning to follow you and your companion. Both you and he are dressed rather too properly to blend in-- expected as it is from a jadeblood-- but worn with the appropriate degree of sardonic detachment, it has its place here. And it’s not as if you mind the attention. There are advantages of making a spectacle of oneself, after all.

You catch one particularly awestruck partygoer by the shoulder and lean in to ask, “would You, by any Chance, have seen our charming Hostess anywhere?”

She waves you towards the mealblock, which is pretty much where you were headed already, and with a nudge, you cue Lanque to lead you there.


	31. -> Mellah: Locate your gracious hostess

A peal of theatrical laughter rises over the din of the party, assuring you that you’re headed in the right direction. Sure enough, you shortly catch a glimpse of Ardata Carmia herself, surrounded by a circle of admirers. She sees you a moment after you see her, and then takes another moment before she makes a show of noticing you.

“Hmmmm? oh my. look who deciiided to make an appearance.”

Beside you, Lanque smirks. “And here I Would haVe imagined you couldn’t be bothered to keep track of the likes of us.”

“really?” She laughs again. “iiit would be ever so gauche of me to forget two of my most faiiithful guests. really. this iiis too much.”

“of course, I would never imagine that You would make such a Transgression,” you assure her, knowing full well that she has. You wonder how long you will be able to draw this out.

“HoW could I eVer haVe suggested it?” Lanque doesn’t even have to shoot you a glance for the two of you to know you’re on the same page here.

“now, if I may trouble You for a Moment of your Time, there is a certain Matter to discuss,”

“mmhahahahahaha. well. as you can see. iii am quiiite occupiiied at the present. to deny my followers my companiiionshiiip. iiit would requiiire such uniiimagniiinable calousness.”

You notice that, while she has been busy addressing your arrival, a number of Ardata’s companions have taken the opportunity to depart.

“I am sure They would not mind, if You were to step away for a brief Exchange,”

She eyes you narrowly, but, out of excuses, complies, bidding the remainder of her audience farewell and joining you as you begin a slow circuit meandering around the party.

  
  



	32. -> Ardata: Converse with these meddlesome guests.

This new pair of trespassers upon your hospitality have you at a disadvantage, and they know it. You should recognize them but you don’t, and one or both of them-- they’re being intentionally vague on that point-- is claiming to have business with you, but you don’t know what. You’re quickly starting to despise them both.

You smile. “so. About that certaiiin matter.”

Thanks to your... unique talents, you’re not used to uncertainty about people's intent, but you’re getting nothing from either of them on that front. The guy doesn’t know why they’re here and is just playing along, and the girl… There’s something wrong with this girl. She looks you in the eye and smiles, and you slide off her thoughts like glass. You might be out of practice using more mundane methods of observation, but you could swear that she knows everything about you.

“iiit wouldn’t do to drag thiiings on for too long. iii have so many guests to attend to. as you can plaiiinly see.” You gesture to a few as you maneuver around them, or rather, let them maneuver around you.

“I could not agree more,” the girl says, still infuriatingly vague.

But things are clicking together for you now. She knows more about you than you do about her, and just recently, you had gone about hiring a personal inquixecutor to sort out a small detail that had been troubling you. You don’t like guessing blind, but it’s that or admit that you didn’t recognize her immediatly.

“one miiight thiiink a more sedate settiiing would be better fiiitiiing for our exchange, miiiss weiiisse.”

“and here, I thought that I was saving You the Trouble of going out of your Way,”

You sneer. “that iiis quiiite a lot to presume. iiin the future, you wiiill arrange to meet wiiith me speciiifiiically. and at my conveniiience. that iiis what iii pay you for. conveneniiience.” 

“indeed, my Apologies,”

She doesn’t sound sorry, and it grates on your nerves, this insubordinate attitude that lingers just below the surface of her deference, but being done dealing with her is becoming increasingly valuable to you, so you decide against wringing a more sincere apology out of miss Weisse.

Her companion, meanwhile, doesn’t bother to veil his antagonism with any courtesy, shallow or otherwise. “And here I thought you Wanted to get this oVer With,” he observes archly.

You bring a hand to your mouth, laughing mirthlessly. “ahem. such iiinsolence, and from my own guest. perhaps someone should teach you some manners.”

He’s about to retort, but Weisse speaks before he can. “so, what are the Details of this Case which You would have me handle?”


	33. ->Mellah: Open the Case of the Theft of Nothing in Particular

Ardata smiles, showing more fang than is strictly necessary. You are reminded of the lowblooded trolls which you know she keeps locked in cages below your very strutpods. And that, aside from being a sweep or two older and concealing your hemocaste behind a fragile facade of professionalism, there is really no difference between you and them.

“iiindeed. you see, iiit all happened about a periiigree ago. an iiitem was stolen from me. iii was most iiinconveniiienced.”

“this Item, It would not happen to be Anything in particular, would It?” you pose, studying her reaction from the corner of your eye.

“iiit would not.” Her smirk falls into a little scowl of displeasure.

“in that Case, as I am to know Nothing about this Item, I take it that your Purpose in hiring me was not to see It returned,”

“no. iiit is iiirelevant.” She might not like the way you’re casting about with your inquiries, trying to guess at her intent, but she offers no further information, so you continue to do so.

“Yet still, You hired a personal Inquixecutor, does It then follow that I am to identify the Culprit?”

“iii know who took iiit.” Ardata’s scowl deepens. “iii want you to make certaiiin she never does iiit agaiiin.”

“ForgiVe me for the… insolence,” Lanque chimes in, “but Why are you of all trolls trying to hire someone to fight your—” He cuts off abruptly, or rather, she cuts off on his behalf. Your gracious hostess has had enough of interruptions, it would seem.

“as iii was sayiiing. the theiiif iiis a liiittle sneak. she hangs around a cafe iii liiike to viiisiiit from tiiime to tiiime.”

“would You, by any Chance, know her Name, or possibly her Sign, in that Event? or any identifying Details at all, really,”

“that iiis not my duty to tell you. iiit iiis yours to fiiind out. do you thiiink iii hiiired a personal iiinquiiixecutor because iii enjoy your company? iii do not.”

“I regret that my Company has not been better to your Liking,” you lie, “but I assure You, I am most capable of handling this Case,”

“Iii wiiill offer you addiiitiiional payment iiif you deliiiver her to me aliiive. however. iii do not care what you do wiiith her. not really.”

“But your VieWers must.” Lanque has, it seems, found his voice again.

Ardata sneers at him. “iii diiid not hiiire miiiss weiiisse to briiing you here to worry about my viiiewers. stop iiit.”

“oddly enough, I notice there was a Decline in your Following preceding this Incident with the Theft, I wonder if the Two might be related somehow,”

“iiirrelevant.”

“It must be terribly difficult, always chasing the Whims of an Audience that give You so little in return,” you press, hoping she’ll be self-centered enough to take the bait.

She is. “you have no iiidea. how could you? the thiiings that iii must do to stay relevant as a producer of siiiniiister content.”

“these Parties, for Instance, do You even enjoy hosting Them?”

“how can iii? so much effort, just to fiiill my hiiive with strangers. and they wiiill leave iiit such a mess.”

“and all in the Name of that fickle Thing, Sincerity,”

Ardata, who has, in a show of the terrible suffering she endures at the claws of her audience, thrown one hand over two eyes, gives a mournful sigh. “siiinceriiity. the nerve of iiit.”

“after Everything that You have gone through to deliver Them the grotesque Content that They desire, and of the highest Quality, still They are not satisfied, and demand that the Subjects of you Content be granted a genuine Opportunity for Survival,”

“the comments iii receiiived. such diiisrespect. they were lucky they diiidn’t say those thiiings to me iiin person.”

“certainly, I read through Them and found that they were most egregious,”

The hand begins to fall, claws lingering on her cheek. “waiiit. iii diiid not tell you to read those.”

“and following from That, the Decline in your Following, the Theft, and the Beginning of the Parties which You so despise hosting,”

“iii did not hiiire you to know any of thiiis. stop thiiis iiinstant.”

“oh, You may rest assured, I will exercise the utmost Discretion when handling this Information,” Were it not for the chilling precarity of your situation here, you would be working to hide a smile.

“One Wonders, if you do not Want anything inVestigated, Why you Would hire and inquixecutor at all.”

Ardata draws herself up, working to mask her indignation. “iii have told you everythiiing you need to know. you are diismiiissed.”

“you have, and I shall proceed with my Investigation with all due Promptness, however, if I may be so presumptuous, I would trespass on your Hospitality a little longer yet,”

Ardata surveys the multitude of trolls filling her recreation block with a final scowl, keeping you in sight the whole time, as if weighing your presence against that of all the other guests and finding both unsavory. “fiiine. so long as you do not bother me anymore. your presence iiis acceptable. iii suppose.”

She waves the both of you off, and you follow Lanque’s lead in slipping off into the crowd and disappearing from Ardata’s view.


	34. ->Lanque: Consult with accomplice.

Almost anyone else might have a lot of questions for Mellah right about now, but one of your great advantages as a partner in activities of dubious legal nature is a profound disinterest in any information in which you see no direct personal benefit.

“Bit of a Waspish bitch, isn’t she?”

“That would be the Long and the Short of It, yes,” Her reply has less thinly veiled amusement than you would expect from her.

You cock a skeptical brow. “If I didn’t knoW better, I Would almost think you didn’t enjoy that little interVieW.”

“the Pleasures of Provocation are not lost on upon me,” she assures you.

“Good. NoW, Was that eVerything you Wanted from me?”

“as any other Business that I have here will be better conducted alone, That was all I intended to request from You, yes, however, I would advise that you avoid any Beverages provided by our Hostess,”

“Oh? And Why Would that be?”

“this Event is a Means by which She hopes to gather Content to sustain her Reputation, and She expects that It will incur a Corpsetally,”

“Oh.”

You run through the implications of this: Mellah brought you into danger, but didn’t leave you to face it unknowing, while Ardata’s decision to let you stay takes on a much less tolerant meaning than you had previously invested it with. Yet, on Alternia, outside of the cloister, none of this is exceptional, you remind yourself.

“if You wish to depart in order to avoid Poisoning, I will be neither offended not disappointed, the Choice is yours,”

“Are you Worried about me?” You catch her chin in your claws, and rather than blush and look away, she meets your eyes, and you see yourself reflected in her glasses.

“You would never thank me for such Concerns,”

“NeVer. Don’t you dare pity me.”

“nor You me,”

You hold the moment, that gaze between you, twin looks of defiance bordering on contempt. Between kismeses, such an exchange would have been a declaration of passion, but between you and Mellah, it is something else entirely. You remember that promise you made sweeps ago, the darkly honest vow at the foundation of your bond.

Never shall I ever fall in love.

Was it a statement of intent, or a revelation of pre-existing fact? Whatever the case, it has served its purpose, and sealed you and Mellah together apart from a world shaped by a near fatalistic fascination with the dual attractions of pity and hate.

You pull her in, kiss her on the cheek, and then the two of you part ways, each pursuing your own agenda.


	35. ->Mallek: Meet up with the doxxer.

The address on the card brings you to a party, the kind of thing that’s your scene insofar as you leave your hive enough to have a scene. What with your many piercings and the mesh top which you swapped out for your usual sweatshirt, you blend in perfectly with the other partygoers as you skirt the edges of the crowd, looking for your quarry.

She finds you first. You recognize her from her avatar-- it’s really not that dissimilar from her real appearance, which you would consider to be a major security concern, except you don’t think she’d agree. You add the observation to the growing list of oddities about the whole situation.

“Ouraboros,” she addresses you.

“that = you; on my husktop;”

She nods.

“how did you do that;”

She lowers her dark round glasses a fraction of a degree and you catch a glimpse of her eyes-- two different hues of vibrant, solid green.

A psionic.

You clamp your jaw shut to keep from uttering a particularly cull-worthy epithet.

She tilts her head to the side. “what?”

“i just thought; you = a highblood;”

“most highbloods do,”

She steps in, close, and an undertow of emotion rises in your torso-- swirls of embarrassment and guilt and long-disappointed desperation, all shot through with unease. Lips beside your auricular cavity, she speaks, only just loud enough for you to hear.

“please, just listen, I know why You’re here, Ouraboros, I know why You hardly sleep, why You live alone and why, Night after Night, You sit at your Husktop, You’re looking for an Escape,”

A shiver runs down your posture pole. She continues.

“I know because I was once looking for the same Thing, but then He found me, and He showed me what I was truly capable of,”

There is a hypnotic quality to her voice and you feel the words, like a drug, seeping into you, even as you try to disentangle the meaning wound within.

“there is a Secret that drives Us, a Secret that brought You here, You know the Truth just as I did,”

“what = the neural interface;”

She steps back, at last. “the Empire bleeds gold,”

You frown, but the implication is not lost on you. Psionics. She’s saying the whole thing comes down to psionics. Then, all your work has been in vain, unless--

“what are you proposing;”

“a Partnership, as I am without the Skill to harness my Capability, and You without the Capability to put Practice to your Skills,”

“right; so;”

You know that you should be leaping at this offer. It’s the break you’ve spent sweeps trying not to hope for. You’ve been quick to jump at every other hint of a lead, but now… you find yourself hesitating.

“the Choice is yours, and Time has not yet run out,” She hands you a card with what appears to be her professional details printed on it. “should You make a Decision, let me know,”

You take the proffered card, and when you look up from it, she is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this brings to a conclusion (for now) the extended Matrix reference!
> 
> There's some stuff in here I would not have written myself, it's way too over the top, I swear I took it straight from the screen directions.


	36. ->Mellah: Scan the room.

You catch sight of Lanque with a girl hanging on his arm-- indigo, you note. She looks like someone looking to make a bad decision, and he’s the bad decision she’s decided to make. Her eyes meet yours and she shoots you a glare of pure vitriol. You figure that she must recognize you from before, when you and Lanque arrived together, and must also have profoundly misunderstood the situation at hand. You are his fake girlfriend, yes, but you’re his fake girlfriend in the pale quadrant, and the pair very much do not look as if they are heading off to discuss their hopes and dreams.

Or perhaps she thinks you’re one of _ those _ moirails, who wait around for their partner to suffer a bad breakup so they can hop into a concupiscent quadrant with them. But that’s not your style of dishonesty-- you lie to keep people from interfering in your life, not to invite further interference. And the very idea of angling for that kind of relationship with Lanque, of all people, is laughable. If you had ever wanted it, all you had to do-- all _ anyone _ would have to do-- was ask. But you know how he treats the trolls he sleeps with, why would you ever desire to be one of them?

Speaking of which, you can count on him not to dispel any of the indigo girl’s illusions, so you had best steer clear. Unless you wanted the drama, of course, but you’ve had your fill of matching wits with bluebloods for tonight, even if you’re certain that this would prove an easy fight.

One might compare the girl to a wounded leapbeast, and you and Lanque to creatures of prey, but you feel no such sympathy for her. Lanque isn’t exactly subtle as to his intentions, so at this point, either she knows what she’s getting into or you have woefully underestimated her intellectual shortcomings.

And in either case, if she decides tomorrow evening that he wasn’t what she signed up for, with blood that blue, he’ll be the one in jeopardy. If a hunt is in fact what’s taking place here, it’s that sort here, should the prey tire of being chased, it could turn and, with a single stamp or swing of antlers, end the predator’s life.

Intent on avoiding a confrontation, you wander off into a smaller adjacent block, where the crowd is quieter, but not quieter enough that they don’t nearly drown out the troll girl sitting in the far corner with and acoustic strumbox cradled in her lap, singing. Leaning against the wall, you take up a post watching her.

Her music is soft, lilting, somewhat aimless both in melody and topic-- she could be singing about the usual quadrant drama, or it could be something else entirely-- punctuated by moments of lyrical brilliance or feats of vocal talent. At first, she seems to be fighting a losing battle with the thumping bass of the music from the next block over, but as you watch, she starts first to follow and then to play off it, weaving in and out with a sort of counter-tempo.

The crowd, however, she is much less successful in adapting to. She catches the gander bulbs of individuals, from time to time, but rarely for long, and she never manages to command the attention of the group as a whole. Not, perhaps, entirely surprising, given the overall high pedigree of Ardata’s guests and the bronze sign on the chest of the singer’s sweater dress.

By contrast, the attention you pay her becomes all the more apparent. You make no effort to hide that you are watching her from behind your round dark glasses, and she looks your way every so often. Towards the end of the performance, you notice the way that a smile blooms lightly on her lips every time she does.

She reaches the end of a song and, either because she’s finished the set or in defeat, lays down her instrument and starts packing up. You avert your attention for a bit and, a moment later, make the tiniest pretense of surprise when she appears at your elbow.


	37. ->Chixie: Greet… fan?

“so/ i saw you watching/ my performance”

The stranger you’ve approached turns her gaze, strikingly intense even behind dark glasses, on you. You give her your best smile. You hadn’t spotted a sign on her clothes while you were singing, and seeing her up close confirms it: she isn’t wearing one. What’s more, said clothes are all black, with gold accessories-- nothing to indicate her blood color, just a serene facade of composed dignity.

“and You would be Chixie Roixmr, if I am not mistaken?”

“no/ you’re not/ do you follow me/ on social media?” you ask, hopeful.

“I’ve heard your Name going around, I knew that I might come across You singing at one of these Events,”

You push down a little sigh of disappointment. People are talking about you-- that’s good, right? You reach up and tuck a lock of hair under one horn.

“well/ i hope i live up/ to the hype” It’s unseemly to care so much about things like social media when you’re supposed to be an artist, above such concerns, so you pretend to chuckle at your pretend joke.

To your relief, she plays along. “yes, indeed You did, and more, no Rumor could do You justice,”

“oh/ well/ thank you”

“That said, had I not heard Talk of your performances here, I would not have expected to encounter a Singer like You at a Venue like this,”

“i just figured/ if i want to get my music out there/ i might as well give it a shot” You punctuate your explanation with an appeasing smile, but once more, you get the sense that you were anticipating condemnation that won’t be coming.

“so what brings someone like you/ to somewhere like this?”

“We are all Creatures of Habit, are We not?” She gives you an enigmatic smile.

“come here often/ do you?”

“I do, certainly,”

She doesn’t seem to be mocking you, but you can’t quite gauge her sincerity, either. You’re getting kind of a weird vibe from her. She’s telling you exactly what you want to hear, and you don’t know why. Not, like, in a creepy way or anything, you’ve dealt with enough of that to know it when you see it, and there’s no weight of expectation behind the way she’s acting. And you don’t think she’s setting you up just to tear you down, there’s no judgement in the way she looks at you, just… focus.

Having her eyes on you is like being in the pinprick flare of a beam of light honed to a point by an inspection hoop; it burns through you and you don’t want it to stop.

You’re not sure how long you should hang around, though. Even though it’s not your first time attending a party at this particular highblood’s hive, well, you’ve been thoroughly enough steeped in the collective knowledge of the internet to know that you’re not entirely safe here.

But while you’re here, your companion’s attention is easy enough to capture. You start talking about this and that and she follows along nimbly and pleasantly, keeping the exchange going with the occasional question or comment. You’re well enough used to doing all the work in conversations that it catches you a little off guard-- the one time it really wouldn’t have bothered you, and you don’t have to.

Together, you carry on for a while.


	38. -> Daraya: Secure the delivery.

Right, so, about that.

Everyone says teals talk, but around the cloister, you’re not even sure that speech is necessary to disseminate information. Obviously, you’re not a hive mind or anything, but everyone is always up in everyone else’s business, and if you just so happen to definitely not really have your auricular cavity to the ground in regards to mysterious outsiders dispensing mysterious packages, you get the news especially quickly.

That stranger who turned up at your door? Lanque left the caverns with her. Like, _ left _ left.

When you heard, the already unbearable weight of just… everything increased a hundredfold, and so you went back to your respiteblock to sit on the floor and stare at the wall. Which is what you’re doing now.

You aren’t some wiggler who whines about how something isn’t fair anytime it doesn’t go your way, but… it isn’t fair. You’ve wanted out of here so much and for so long, and then _ Lanque _ of all people just… strolls on out. And okay, sure, you don’t know that he hasn't felt the way you have, but still. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Lanque is-- has always been-- the thing you could become. Strung out, half gone, (but not like _ that _ ) trying to cram an entire lifetime of bad decisions into a few short sweeps, with all the danger and self-destruction that entailed. He’s always in trouble, he’s no one’s friend that knows better, he’s always been in some subtle and irreparable way, not a _ proper _ member of the sisterhood of the cloister.

So, if you don’t take your studies seriously--

If you don’t learn to get along with the other Jades--

If you don’t sort out what you want to _ do _ with the rest of your life--

\-- you always knew you would end up like him.

But now… what? “You’ll end up like Lanque” sure doesn’t mean the same thing it did two nights ago, but… it’s not like he’s an example you can follow. Lanque got out of here by what seems to you like random chance. Just doing what he did? Yeah, that’s not gonna get you shit.

So you got nothing.

Again.

And that leaves… the package.

It’s still sitting there, still wrapped in some weirdo’s nosewipe plane. Probably clean, but still. Ew.

That’s not why you haven’t touched it, though. You haven’t touched it because, no matter what its courier said, she tried to get you hype over this thing. And you are _ so _ not ready to be hype. Sure it sucks being bored and miserable all the time, but you know what sucks more? Getting all worked up over something and having it come out to nothing.

Not that you’ve successfully managed to avoid that. If you really didn’t care what was in the package, you would have opened it already.

“∆∆∆ ughhhh ∇∇∇” you groan, and reach out for the nosewipe plane-wrapped object in question. Not like it’s gonna do you any good just sitting there.

You really have to work to get the knots undone, they’re surprisingly solid. They don’t budge at first, until you twist and claw at them until they break, and then the tied ends of the nosewipe plane slide apart easily, and the package falls open to reveal…

Huh.

Inside the package is a roll of heavy material, tied with cord, and inside _ that _, you find--

Oh.

You know what these are. Like, you’ve never seen any in person, but you know generally that people in the know don’t have to resort to disassembled writing utensils to open locked doors. Or _ not _ open locked doors, as your case would be.

So, great. That’s one problem solved, after a fashion. You just wish you knew… why. It’s probably too much to hope for that your new definitely not a friend sent them; she really doesn’t seem the sort. If anything, _ you _ should be. And now… you are. Whoop de fucking doo.

Speaking of which, you should let her know about this development.

\-- reprobateAspiring [RA] began trolling ironConcordat [IC] \--

RA: ∇ you remember that thing we were doing ∆

IC: yes

RA: ∇ with the door ∆

IC: you don’t have to say any mmmmore about it right nowwww

IC: in fact

IC: you really shouldn’t

RA: ∆ right so ∇

RA: ∆ i think i know how to get us un-stuck there ∇


	39. -> Mellah: Emerge.

After you’ve been talking for a while, Chixie gestures towards the door. “i’m on my way out/ would you mind/ walking with me?”

“it would be my Pleasure,” you reply, “but not that Way,”

“oh?”

“there is Someone who I would rather not encounter, at the Moment,”

“oh/ sure”

You lead her through a different door, into a habitation corridor, edging past the partygoers that line the passageway, leaning against the walls and holding plastic cups. You lay a guiding claw on her elbow. The two of you reach the entryblock of the hive, and the troll at the door. You see him start to scowl as your companion draws near, but then he spots you and all traces of it slide off his expression plate. He nods at her as the two of you exit.

You step out of the press and noise of the party into the cool air outside. Overhead, the twin moons hang like treasonous convicts in the sky, and at the sight of it, the restlessness that lingers always in your blood stirs.

_ Soon _, you tell yourself. Soon, you will be gone. It will not be long until the time of your Ascension arrives, and your bargain with your Guardian will come due-- it will pay off, or not.

One way or another, you will leave all this behind.

Soon.

“lovely/ isn’t it?”

You are recalled to your immediate surroundings by the chime of a voice at your side, and you turn to see the bronzeblood singer, who smiles when your gaze settles on her. You return the gesture.

“yes, It most certainly is,”

“i spend so much time/ performing/ and promoting myself/ and working on my music/ sometimes i don’t take time/ to look at the city/ or the sky/ and i start to miss it/ even though it’s right there” She punctuates this with a melodic little sigh.

In a complex exchange of small and indistinct gestures, the two of you determine that you are heading in the same direction, at least for now, and set off at a measured pace.

“such Things are often overlooked, in the Pursuit of one’s Pastimes,”

“it’s so much a part of my music/ trying to write lyrics without it/ is like drawing blood/ from a dead troll’s vein”

“yes, I found Myself quite taken with the Imagery of your Songs, and likewise with your depiction of Romance,” You allow your tone to lighten, and ask, “do You seek similar Inspiration in that Matter, as well?”

“oh/ that’s/ not really/ you could say i get a lot of offers/ but not really anything/ that feels real”

“I can imagine that One in a Position such as yours might be subject to many Advances of that Nature, and might find Them most unwelcome,”

“it’s different/ in person/ it can be better/ or worse”

“and would You say, in your Estimation, that I am better, or worse?”

Chixie lets out a chiming peal of laughter, and at last, it feels fully genuine, not performed. “not at all/ you’re actually just/ talking to me/ i’ve enjoyed that”

Having ambled a ways from the hive where the party is still carrying on, the beat of the music still discernible through the other sounds of an Alternian early morning, you draw up to an intersection and come to a halt, as Chixie indicates that her path here diverges from your own. Your scuttlebuggy is not far from here, and you could offer Chixie a ride, but you don’t.

“I am glad that You have found my Company agreeable, but the Night grows young, and it would seem that We are to go our separate Ways,”

“wait/ i never even/ caught your name”

“is it your Suggestion that We might meet again, in the Future?”

“i would like that/ actually”

“well, in that Case,” You pull a business card out of an inside pocket of your trench and hand it to her.

“wow/ this is so/ professional” She giggles a little.

“I do pride Myself in appearing as such, though not, perhaps, to One such as Yourself,”

“well/ you know who i am/ so you can look me up/ and drop me a line/ i won’t ignore it if it’s you”

She gives you a last mile and a wave, and then continues on her way, away from you.

The night grows early, and all of your business here is done. Your date-- the one you arrived with, that is-- is currently occupied with his own affairs and likely to be so for longer than you care to wait. He won’t consider it a slight against him-- the two of you might have come together, but neither of you expected to leave that way. You are, after all, both creatures of habit.

You reach your scuttlebuggy and, once inside, tap in the familiar instruction that send you hive-wards. When you arrive, dawn is still a ways off, the windows of your entryblock not yet shading themselves to ward off the searing heat of day. Though it is still past your usual hour of repose, you make no move towards your respiteblock, instead pulling a volume of arcane knowledge from your bookhive and settling yourself on the loungeplank.


	40. -> Mellah: Read fairytale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: As this section draws from the infamous fanfic My Immortal, it features many of that fic's flaws, including an incredibly poor, though brief, treatment of suicide, made worse by the standard Alternian lack of regard for life. Also, I make no claim to have written My Immortal.

What in the--

It seems that you have not, in fact, selected a volume of arcane knowledge, but instead a fairytale for wrigglers-- “Undying Mine; or, Enobby Rayven and the Septet of Lowbloods of Diminutive Stature.” The story is a very old one, hence the title that doesn’t take up the entire cover.

This is the second time in as many nights that you’ve found yourself reading something far less dry and erudite than your usual fare. If you didn’t know better, you might suspect that your life has recently undergone some sort of transformation which has been causing things to occur in a manner which a theoretical observer would find more engaging and entertaining. But of course, you do know better.

The particular fairytale you find yourself reading tonight is one whose legality and subsequent popularity fluctuates in accordance with the balance of power between the Heiress and Condesce on Alternia. In your studies, you have run across instances where now and again, some literary inscholcacian has attempted to argue, while an Heiress is young and has not built a following on her home planet, that it is a mythologized retelling of the reigning Condesce’s rise to power. This reading, like the inscholcacian once the legislacerators are done with them, inevitably falls flat.

But Trizza Tethys is not young. She is nearly of age. On Alternia, the might of the empire is synonymous with her name. And as the Royal Rumble draws near, she has every reason to promote the tale of a noble Heiress triumphing over a villainous Condesce, and “Undying Mine” is precisely that tale. The particular copy which you are now reading came from a shipment sent to the cloister for the betterment of wrigglers, delivered to your custody courtesy of Lanque, and in the illustrations, Enobby bears a striking resemblance to Trizza, but wearing a variety of extravagant outfits of sinister aesthetic.

You begin to read with a certain detachment. The story is one you know well, not demanding of your full attention, and you skim past the lengthy descriptions of Enobby’s wardrobe to review the familiar points of the story.

The evil Condesce, a “prep” who favors a certain bright pink in clothes and decor, a diluted shade of her royal blood, uses an enchanted fenestrated plane to observe her Heiress, Enobby Rayven, as she approaches adulthood, and grows particularly hateful towards the girl because of her remarkable beauty. However, rather than confront her directly, the preppy Condesce calls forth her Huntsman to go kill the girl and retrieve her bloodpusher as proof that she is dead.

The Huntsman appears before Enobby, bursting in on her and a paramour, and said matesprite flees in tears. Though Enobby does nothing to escape or defend herself, the Huntsman is so taken with her beauty that she is spared out of pity, and the Huntsman rigs up an incredibly shitty substitute bloodpusher by taking one from a nearby lowblood, slaughtered without hesitation, slapping it on a golden platter, and dressing it up with some premium grubsauce. This counterfeit bloodpusher is then delivered to the evil Condesce, who promptly devours it.

Having been spared, Enobby breaks down sobbing, blood-hued tears running down her extensively-described face, bemoaning her specialness and talent and beauty, and asking no one in particular why she couldn’t have been some mediocre commoner-- not a lowblood, though, she obviously doesn’t want that. Actually, you don’t think she really wants to be anything other than she is, not really. She, like many other highbloods, is just willing to indulge in a little self-pity, when it costs her nothing.

Suddenly, a whole septet of lowbloods of diminutive stature appear-- Servus Snopes, Bloody Hermon, Willow Rayven, (no relation) Dumbly Dorrre, Vloxen Mortis, Vampyr Potter, and Draco. You have no idea why that last one has such a weird name. They all immediately recognize Enobby as their rightful superior, and moved by her incredible beauty, beg her to take pity upon them and allow them to serve her.

They previously had an eighth companion, who recently killed herself, leaving an empty respiteblock in their hive, where they implore Enobby to take up residence. She reluctantly accepts, and this is treated as a spectacularly magnanimous act.

Gazing into her enchanted fenestrated plane, the preppy Condesce discovers that Enobby Rayven is not dead, as she had believed, and hatches a convoluted plot to dispose of the Heiress. She will disguise herself as one of the girl’s favorite slam poets of sinister aesthetic, and lure her out by putting on a concert. She will then tempt her with a poisoned apple, killing her. The plan goes off without a hitch, and Enobby collapses with the apple still in her hand.

The septet of lowbloods of diminutive stature arrive suddenly and all at once just as the Condesce departs. So taken are they with Enobby’s beauty, and so saddened by her death, that they construct a glass corpse-box in which to keep her body, so that they may continue to look upon it. One night, as they are all sitting around complimenting her outfit, a prince comes along. Similarly enamoured of her beauty, he orders the lowbloods to open the corpse-box, and leaning over, kisses Enobby on the lips.

For some reason that is never fully explained, Enobby is awakened by the kiss. The preppy Condesce, looking once more into her fenestrated plane, sees the two of them together and is so filled with rage that she instantly drops dead. Enobby and the prince live happily ever after, as is their due, and Enobby presumably goes on to rule the galaxy, as is her due. The tale is entirely unconcerned with the fate of any other characters.

The whole thing is, in your estimation, incredibly stupid. But then, so are all Alternian fairytales. You set the volume down with a sigh.


	41. ->Mellah: Welcome home.

The arrival of your hiveguest is rather welcome, a relief even. You can stop thinking about incredibly shitty Alternian fairytales now. Who wouldn’t want that?

Lanque doesn’t make a big deal of his entrance, doesn’t announce it or linger by the door waiting for you to prompt him. He comes over to the loungeplank and flings himself down upon it, thinkpan resting in your lap. You notice the way he’s leaning on things, not to pose but for support, but you don’t say anything. That’s just part of his usual modus operandi.

You stroke his hair obligingly. The roots are damp with sweat, but otherwise, it’s soft as honkfowl down. He closes his eyes, and the line of his lashes is sharp and dark against his cheeks. He looks kind of fucked up-- clothes rumpled, slight pallor and sheen to his skin, makeup smudged-- but of course in a dashing way, he’s never not gorgeous. You smooth a few stray hairs away from his face.

He looks up at you, listlessly and somewhat out of focus. “We really are terrible people, aren’t We, Mellah?”

“indeed, simply the Worst,”

“I saW you With that--”

“Cerulean,” you volunteer, “ a professional contact,”

He lets out a sibilant, derisive laugh. “Oh, really? Do you greet all your professional contacts that Way, or just the one?”

“as We are both aware, I cannot afford the Luxury of eschewing any Method of operating at my disposal,”

Straight white teeth flash against crimson-painted lips in a cruel and bitter smile. “Don’t play coy With me, Mellah. We both knoW you Were thrilled to haVe him Wrapped around your finger.”

“I would not deny It, certainly not to You,” You run your hand in a loose arc around one of his horns, inky locks enveloping your fingers. “did You enjoy Yourself tonight?”

His smile fades to a scowl. “What do you think?”

“the same as usual, in that Case,”

He huffs and shifts to a more comfortable, if less dramatic, position on the loungeplank, on his side facing away from you.

“did She end up yelling at you, then, or did You leave before She could start?”

“You think I Would be careless enough to sit around Waiting for some bitch to yell at me?”

“it is not that I would call such Behavior careless, as I might were You to to display greater Aversion to Scenes of that Nature,”

His shoulders shake as he starts laughing suddenly. “Well shit.” You look down at him. “NeVer let anyone call you merciful.”

“I assure You, I have no such Intent,”

The two of you sink into silence, and his expression settles into one of distant melancholy. Your thoughts are drawn to the hemopacts of young pupa pals, of mirrored wounds made on appendages and pressed together, bloody and raw. What would it mean to repeat that, again and again, the way this exchange is a repeat of one you have had with Lanque countless times in the past? Your hand comes to a rest on his shoulder.

“If anyone eVer heard us talking like this, they Would think We must hate each other. Sometimes I Wonder if We don’t.” He looks up at you. “Do you hate me, Mellah?”

“would I be sitting here like this if I hated You?”

“That’s not an ansWer,” he presses.

You sigh. “knowing all the World, I still chose You,”

“And knoWing all of you, I still tolerate you.”

“there, then, is your Answer,”

You and he are still, then, and quiet, watching the rosy tendrils of dawn creep closer as the window before you slowly darkens. After a while, he gets up and staggers off to the respiteblock, and once he is gone, you do likewise. You dream of nothing, this day.


	42. ->Mellah: Receive a mysterious message.

The next evening, you once more arise and depart for your office before your hiveguest is awake. You are, once more, unsurprised by this. When you arrive at said office, it is still some time before your new client is scheduled to show up. You’re just getting settled in and going over last night, jotting down some notes, when you are interrupted by what first appears to be a blank white box appearing on your husktop, but which you quickly recognize as a message from your guardian.

As it would so happen, I have another request for you.

orphicConatus: so soon?

OC: to what do I owe this Boon?

A boon indeed, Miss Weisse. As we both know, the window of opportunity for you to earn a lifetime grows narrow.

OC: indeed?

OC: I had figured nearly another Sweep, unless there is Something amiss with my Reckoning,

As one in a position of nigh-omniscience, I assure you that your reckoning is accurate, but irrelevant.

OC: and I suppose You cannot simply tell Me why this may be the Case, can You not?

It is within my power, certainly.

OC: and yet, You will not,

The cause of this will be revealed to you, in due time. You see, you and I are somewhat alike in that regard.

OC: forgive Me, for I fail to see the Similarity,

OC: You are, after all, nigh-omniscient,

OC: what Secrets could be hidden to You, only to be revealed in due Time?

The scale of my unknowing is different from yours, certainly. And one less perceptive than yourself might ask the same question of you that you have of me.

OC: well then, I must concede that All is made clear by this Explanation,

No need to be snide, Miss Weisse.

OC: my Apologies, it would seem that this Exchange has digressed from its original Purpose,

So it would. I called upon you to offer you an opportunity to earn some time.

OC: and what might that Opportunity be?

If I am correct, and we both know that I am, you have been hired by a certain Miss Carmia to deal with someone who has been an inconvenience to her.

OC: as You are no doubt also aware, I am not in the Habit of speaking to anyone about my Cases, aside from my Clients themselves,

OC: not even to You,

And we are all creatures of habit, are we not? So, I will not ask you to speak about it. In fact, I will ask that you do nothing about it at all, and for that, you will be compensated.

OC: am I to take it that You are attempting to buy my Integrity?

Everyone has their price, my dear. Your life is yours, and it is that which I am offering you, at a rate of one perigee every two nights that you abstain from investigating this case. Will you attempt to refuse?

OC: that is quite a Rate to set, You must not anticipate paying it for a terribly long while,

OC: but whatever shall I say to my Client?

OC: I do have a Reputation to maintain, after all,

I am certain you will think of something. You always do.

Before you can respond, the window in which your guardian’s text appeared vanishes, denying you the possibility. Perhaps he foresaw that, whatever your response, it would not be to his liking. Perhaps he did it to ensure that you wouldn’t deny this request of his. You didn’t agree to it, either, and you know that you are free to pursue the case or not, as you see fit. You won’t, of course. He’s right, he knows your price, and he’s the only one that can offer it to you.

This is not the first time you have allowed yourself to be bought, though it is the first time he has been the one doing the buying. Far from it, in fact, just as he insinuated. It’s something you’re neither proud nor ashamed of. Knowing when to take the bribe and walk away is just part of the business you’re in, and you never would’ve made it anywhere if you didn’t understand that.

You’ll have to deal with your client, of course, but not right away. She doesn’t expect to hear from you tonight, and so she won’t. And after that, you can spin her a nice enough story about an investigation made on her behalf, about leads and setbacks and unexpected twists, or at least hint at one, and make yourself unpleasant to talk to when you’re done with that. If you’re right about the rate that your guardian has set for you, handling her should be easy, because you won’t have to do it for very long.


	43. ->Lanque: Wake up.

You are dragged into consciousness, as you are on many nights, by a sensation which might be compared to a chompvermin attempting to gnaw its way out of your thinkpan. As you pull yourself reluctantly out of the sopor slime of the recuperacoon and into the ablution block, between your hungover state and the still-unfamiliar setting, you manage to knock into pretty much everything you can, some things twice even.

Some time later, once you are relatively awake and presentable, though not much less miserable, you wander out to the main block. You consider laying the blame for your condition at your host’s strutpods-- she knew you would do this to yourself when she asked you out last night-- but the more you consider doing so, the less appealing it seems, especially when you come across the double dose of painkillers that she left for you on a counter in the mealblock, along with half a pot of coffee and a note providing you with exactly no new information. You were already aware that she was at her office. Most people would appreciate the courtesy, you suppose.

Halfway through your second cup of coffee, between the caffeine and the painkillers kicking in, you collect yourself enough to contemplate your situation. You’re still adjusting to the novelty of not having Bronya-- or in her absence, Lynera-- telling you what to do every minute, of not having to lie and bribe and sneak to get any time to yourself. You can just… go places, and do things, with only the usual dangers attendant to life on Alternia’s surface. Who’s going to yell at you if you step out of line, Mellah? She’s as likely as not to be right beside you, playing along.

You take another sip of coffee and recall, involuntarily, a small inconvenience now facing you. Having departed the cloister as hurriedly as you did has left you with a severely limited wardrobe-- between last night and tonight, you’re pretty much run through everything you brought with you. You’re no stranger to wearing the same clothes two nights in a row, but this is taking things a little too far.

A shopping trip is in order. It’ll be fun, you tell yourself. A chance to be wildly self-indulgent, to exercise your new-found liberty and adjust to life on the surface. But try as you might, you just can’t summon up enthusiasm for the endeavour. You could place orders online and have things delivered by drone, like you always have at the cloister, but that isn’t what you really want either.

You pull out your palmhusk and shoot your host a message, and aren’t entirely surprised when she responds immediately. She always does, unless she’s directly otherwise occupied.

\-- tempestuousCalyptra [TC] began trolling orphicConatus [OC]\--

TC: I found the note you left, back to Work already?

OC: as You are no doubt aware, the Purpose of such a Note was to supplant an Exchange, such as the One in which We are currently engaged,

TC: Looks like _ someone _ craWled out of the Wrong side of the recuperacoon.

OC: I do, on Occasion, grow tired of Pretense,

TC: And here, I thought you couldn’t possibly be haVing a Worse eVening than I Was.

OC: I would hardly call this Hour of the Night “evening,”

TC: Well, clearly I Was mistaken in that assumption.

TC: I Wonder What it took, to throW you off your appetite for banter, usually so insatiable.

OC: You say That, as if You were not yourself my Equal by that Measure,

TC: As We both knoW, I can only hope to keep pace With you so long you refrain from any mention of your studies.

TC: A mercy for Which I am eternally grateful, to be sure.

OC: what have You ever known of my Studies?

OC: the last Time there was any mention of them between Us, You gifted Me a dreadful Fairytale under the Impression that it as an arcane Tome,

OC: were I nearly so prone to Exposition as You claim, You certainly would have realized that the Two have very Little in common,

OC: as You are not nearly so unknowing as You make Yourself out to be,

TC: Oh, and here I thought you enjoyed my gift.

OC: indeed, I did,

TC: Besides, you’Ve mentioned your studies more recently than that.

OC: whatever do You refer to?

TC: The driVe from the cloister? Don’t tell me you’Ve forgotten our conVersation.

OC: indeed, I have not,

OC: and as such, I would say You are mistaken,

OC: I made no Mention of my Research,

TC: Well hoW the fuck else do you knoW about your fate? Did it come to you in a Vision?

OC: This is precisely what I meant about your Perception,

OC: You sharpen your Tongue upon the very Details which You pretend to ignore,

TC: Are you saying that you find such behaVior from me unbecoming?

OC: not in the Slightest,

OC: anyways, what is it that You sought to contact Me about in the first Place?

TC: As you are aWare, my recent departure from the cloister Was quite sudden.

TC: LeaVing me With a much-reduced Wardrobe.

TC: HoWever much I can surViVe Without, We both knoW it takes more than that to thriVe.

OC: very well, how do You intend to address this Conundrum?

TC: Well, I haVe a faVor to ask.

OC: might it be that I return to the Cloister to retrieve a number of Items on your Behalf?

TC: CleVer as alWays, Mellah.

OC: You do realize, there are any Number of alternative Solutions,

TC: Shall I take that as a refusal?

OC: You have your Reasons, as I am aware, I can make the Journey tomorrow Night,

TC: I’ll haVe a list ready for you.

\--tempestuousCalyptra ceased trolling orphicConatus\--

And now, you are left with the rest of the night, to do with as you please.


	44. -> Mellah: Open the case of Yet Another Internet Stalker

Your newest client is anything but punctual. Over an hour past the agreed-upon meeting time, and still no sign of them. Not that it bothers you particularly, you fully anticipated this and are making good use of the time going over your latest notes on the study of your psionic talent, since as per the request of your benefactor, you no longer have another case to pursue.

This time, you really are consulting a volume of arcane knowledge-- the book lies open to a series of obscure diagrams which you pore over, occasionally comparing them to several of your own. These diagrams relate to the subject of psionic resonance, the frequency at which psionic energies travel, or at least act as if they do. Most psionics have little need for such knowledge, and can do well enough just throwing power around wherever, but you? Frequencies can be amplified, and to be anything other than utterly null, yours need to be amplified a  _ lot _ .

Your findings in this field, so far, have been fascinating, though not entirely convenient. Every means of amplifying psionic energies alters them in other ways, and there are many factors at play that determine how-- physical, geometric, even symbolic factors. It is by no means a straightforward practice ruled by logical, rational principles.

The sound of the door opening alerts you to the arrival of your client, and you lower the page you are studying and raise your gaze to study them instead. You are aware of prey animals employing lurid tones as false warning coloration to avoid being hunted, and it would seem that your new client is attempting to put the same principle to use in bright-colored clothes no doubt styled to look as intentionally low-effort as possible, to hide that the wearer could not actually pull off appearing put together if they tried. Of particular note is the eyepatch edged in neon pink, a physical reminder of the background info you’ve gathered on them. Stowing your work in a drawer at your side, you rise.

“Cirava Hermod, I presume,”

Your greeting requires no response, yet they make one anyways, “yeah”

“as You are no doubt aware, I am Mellah Weisse, Personal Inquixecutor,”

You hold out a hand in greeting and are entirely unsurprised when they fail to take it. Internet personalities, in your experience, are not best known for their social graces. You smile and retract your hand.

“my Apologies for the inconvenience, but I am most grateful that You could meet with me Tonight, as I am aware that You are not accustomed to doing so,”

Sitting back behind your desk, one leg folded neatly over the other, you gesture to the chair opposite from you. Your new client drops into it, in a manner not at all intended by the object’s design, one leg draped over the chair’s arm.

“i used to go to all kinds of meet ups an stuff”

“but, as of Late, not so much, I take it?” Phrased as a question, it sounds less like you investigated them prior to your meeting and more like a lucky guess.

“yeah no” They shrug the topic off.

“may I offer You a Drink?” You indicate the bottle of amber liquid and glasses ever-ready on top of a filing cabinet beside your desk.

“lol you ask all your clients that” they eye you suspiciously, and you can all but hear the facade of cool indifference they wore in slipping, “or just the charity cases youre fakin bein nice to?”

You feel it, looking at Cirava, that weight of contempt at the forbearance of highbloods pretending at tolerance. It’s familiar to you, but distant, like the scent of smoke drifting from an adjoining block. If you just revealed your eyes to them, your common blood, they would realize just how much you understand, and this antipathy between you would vanish like a breath upon the wind, but you do not.

Your identity, concealed, becomes like a private joke to you, that you cannot tell.

“as You are well aware, I never take charity Cases, I merely make a Habit of showing all my Clients a most basic measure of Civility,”

“o rly?”

“We are, in the End, all creatures of Habit, are We not?”

“yeah sure lmao” Cirava grins at you like a shutter slamming closed and you smile pleasantly in return.

“sorry but can we make this quick” they gesture vaguely, possibly a signal those more socially connected than you would recognize, “i gotta keep up with my streams”

You could point out that, had they been more punctual, this issue would never have been so, but you don’t.

“if You wish to get directly to the Business at hand, then I will offer no Objection, what Trouble brings You to my Door?”

“so like this asshole slides into my dms right”

You nod, not bothering with the slightest pretense that you are actually relating to this story.

“and i dont block em right away cause like” they give a small one-shoulder shrug, “if i started blockin dudes for that shit who even would be left lmao”

“the inevitable Price of online Fame?”

“yeah its whatever” Another shrug. “i could go on about how im all tortured an shit but no ones gonna wanna hear it lmao” Another grin.

“and I believe You mentioned that You are under a Time constraint?”

“right so anyways i ignore this fucker and next thing i know theres a pic of my hive in my inbox an a note says i better start playin a whole lot nicer” with every word, Cirava’s eye grows a little narrower at the recollection.

“so You find yourself being blackmailed?”

“yeah thats what i said”

“and You are hiring Me to discover the Identity of this Blackmailer, and then what?”

“idk i guess i gotta grab caps and make a callout post”

“and how, precisely, would doing so prevent your Blackmailer from enacting the implied Threat made against You?”

They glare at you, likely unaware of exactly how far that mask of composure they wore in has fallen away, before letting out a huff of indignation. “well what else am i gonna do?”

“it is within the Purview of the Services which I provide as Personal Inquixecutor to have someone culled, not by my own Hands, but acting as an Agent on behalf of my Clients to the necessary Parties,”

“woah fuck” This time, Cirava doesn’t bother smiling. “forgot i was dealin with a highblood for a sec there lmao”

It is only natural for your new client to assume that you are a highblood. Most in your line of work are. This is, of course, the punchline to your private little joke. How amusing.

Yet that exchange you shared with your programmer contact last night tickles the back of your mind--  _ “i just thought; you = a highblood;”  _ he had said, and you replied,  _ “most highbloods do,” _ You know lies, and somewhere here, there is one-- and not just in letting people think your blood is far richer than it really is.

“no offense but culling peeps isnt really how i roll”

“none taken, the Choice is yours, and will remain so, I will find the Identity of your Blackmailer, and then contact You with the Information,”

“ok fine”

You see to the transactional side of your meeting-- the signing of contracts and handing over of documents-- and then you see your new client out of your office before settling down to start your investigation.


	45. -> Mallek: Make your choice.

You’ve been staring at the same screen for several hours now. The only reason you weren’t staring at it all day before this is that you forced yourself to sleep, with chemical assistance when it didn’t work without. You aren’t stuck, really, not in the usual ways. This isn’t a coding problem. You push away from your custom husktop setup.

The problem is, you know it’s futile. You’ve had the answer handed to you, and now you’re, what? Trying to pretend you didn’t? What you have now isn’t work to do, it’s a choice to make, and pointless as it might be, you almost wish you could go back to the former.

You know that you can’t really trust the mysterious stranger who presented you with this choice. She doxxed you, after all, just to get your attention, and dragged Dieman into it, to boot. And you’re used to not trusting the people you associate with. But you’re not used to working with them.

But you have to, don’t you?

Sure, it could be a hoax, to waste your time, to trap you to some end, even to gather enough evidence to send the drones after you for treason. If you let someone in on your work, you could very well die, and you know it. But if you don’t?

You’re just going to spend more nights like tonight, fighting a losing battle with the stifling suspicion that everything you’re doing is in vain. Whether the mysterious stranger is offering you a miraculous solution to your problems or leading you to your doom, you have to follow her and find out. Because you can’t live with the uncertainty of not doing that.

But you’re not quite ready to admit it just yet. To admit… defeat? It feels like defeat. But then, so does everything.

You stand up, stretch, yawn. Your lusus pokes his head out from behind a pile of cables.

“i = just going out for a tick;” you assure him. “you = are always trying to get me to take breaks; it = good to get some space when i = stuck;”

He gives you a skeptical look, insofar as snakes can give skeptical looks. You bonk him affectionately on the snout, though you know he’s not buying it.

Even so, you wander over to one of the piles of clothes scattered about the block, picking through it for something wearable. Yes, this would be easier if you just washed your clothes and put them away; no, you know you’re probably never gonna get around to it. You end up settling on the same get-up you wore to the party last night-- you only wore the outfit once, so it’s not  _ really _ dirty, right? You throw it on and, with a last unsuccessful attempt to appease your lusus, you depart.

Since you’re not headed any great distance from you hive, you elect to travel by strutpod. There’s a club you visit sometimes, on the rare occasions like tonight when you aren’t too busy being holed up in your hive coding. The entrance is understated, just a double door at the entrance of yet another alley, with some minimal signage to indicate that the place is open for business. The bouncer outside has even more facial hardware than you, and he nods you through into a large, dark, industrial space booming with music.

It’s still early for most people to show up, but on Alternia, where nightlife is just… life, there’s always a few people around, clustered at the edges of the dance floor or hanging at the bar. You join the latter group and call for a coke.

Now that you’re here, you start to recall that you don’t really like this place. It’s catered to trolls exactly like you-- highbloods with a chip on their shoulder, who want to feel rebellious without the risk of actually stepping outside of the safe little bubble of the world built to serve them and actually slumming it. It’s all so… fake.

Not that you’d be more comfortable in a genuine dive. You’re an outsider in those places, and it’s not something you can ignore, or feel any way about other than guilty. And that, on top of your drive to just keep working, is why you so rarely leave your hive.

Your drink comes and you’re interrupted in your melancholy thoughts by the guy leaning provocatively against the bar beside you.

“Oh, I recognize  _ you _ .” He smirks, giving you a glimpse of sharp canine fangs.

You look him over. He’s sharp, well-manicured on top of being-- you won’t pretend otherwise-- very attractive. You spot the emblem on the pocket of the jacket thrown over his shoulders. A jade sign on a guy; you don’t see that every day. You think you would have remembered if you’d run into him before.

“i can’t say the same for you;”

“The party last night, you Were there, right?”

“yeah; i guess; it != exactly small tho; i didnt see most people who = there;”

He pretends to look offended. “I guess you didn’t notice me, but I saW you. Funny, isn’t it, that We’d Wind up at the same club tonight?”

“ok; sure;” You decide to play along.

“I neVer got to introduce myself, I’m Lanque.”

“mallek;”

It looks like you’re not going to have any trouble distracting yourself tonight, after all.


	46. -> Lynera: Consider your options.

You simply cannot allow things to continue as they are. Oh, you suppose you _ could _ do nothing, but--

-but there’s too much on the line.

What if someone finds out that Bronya let a cloistered jade just… leave?

What if Lanque’s plot isn’t over, and he’s getting ready to take revenge?

What if Bronya never forgives you?

You have to--

You have to… what?

What could you possibly do that wouldn’t wind up making everything worse, _ again _?

“[]um, lynera? oWo []” Wanshi looks up at you with concern not entirely free of judgement. “[]What are you doing?[]”

You realize that you are standing in the middle of the path down to the breeding pools, claws clenched around the handle of the sack of supplies you’re carrying, and possibly muttering to yourself. You curse yourself silently. Somewhere in the back of your thinkpan, you know that this isn’t the first time, even in the very few nights you've had it, that your new preoccupation has gotten in the way of your tasks around the cloister, and everyone is going to know.

All the more reason to settle on a course of action and carry through with it.

You put on a patently false smile and pat Wanshi on the head, earning you a scowl from the younger jade. “-im fine! -everything is fine!”

“[]oWo really? but you Were standing there talking to yourself, you sounded upset[]”

“-i was not!” you snap.

“[]were too![]”

“-was !!!not!!!”

“[]were too--o![]” She exclaims as you grab her shoulder, cutting her off.

She looks up at you, eyes huge and round, suddenly silent as you remind her that you’re in charge around here, second only after Bronya and _ definitely _ when it comes to her. You draw yourself up, determined to keep being the responsible one.

“-and what were you doing here? -hmm?”

Not easily intimidated, Wanshi puffs herself up. “[]i’m done With my chores and lessons, so i Was looking for lanque, he promised that We could play soldier purrbeasts together![]”

Lanque. You fail to suppress a twitch at the mention of his name, but you keep calm.

“-oh did he?”

“[]i knoW he probably just said it to get me to leave him alone[]” She rolls her eyes. “[]but I also knoW he’s only pretending to be too cool to hang out With me and read fun books![]”

“-oh -lanque isn’t at the cloister anymore”

You want to say that the emotion welling up in your thoracic cavity is pity for the younger jade at having been abandoned by her would-be playmate, but you know the taste of your own spite. You do your best to convince yourself, anyways.

“[]OWO he’s not?[]”

“-he decided he had better things to do -than stay here with us” You omit the part where he was chained up in your bookhive for several nights before making this decision, and that he fled to escape continuing to be so.

All of Wanshi’s youthful indignation evaporates in an instant, replaced by tears that she struggles to hold back in front of you. Channeling your inner Bronya, you lean down and pat her in what you hope is a comforting manner. Her bottom lip quivers.

“-oh no! -im so sorry!”

“[]he Was the only one Who Would roleplay With me[]” she sniffs. "[]and noW, there's no one[]"

If you were either more genuinely sympathetic or more conniving, you might consider taking Lanque’s place as Wanshi’s companion. Instead, you make no such offer, and continue to sigh and coo over the distraught younger girl, letting it stoke the dark flames of your bitterness towards him.

He’s going to have to pay for this, and you’re the one who’s going to have to make sure he does. You’re no longer terribly concerned about the risks involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to take this moment to warn peeps that Lynera's arc is headed for some very dark territory. Actual content warnings will continue to be updated as said content is posted, this is just a general declaration to be ye warned.
> 
> All the pains that Friendsim went to highlight her potential to be a better person, well... this scenario is the opposite. Maybe she deserves better, but she's not getting it here.
> 
> Give your hands to the devil, and you've no cause for surprise when they do harm, one might say.


	47. -> Lanque: Cut to the chase and make out with him already.

You know you should. This is what you came here for, both because that’s just what you do and because when you recognized him as Mellah’s “professional contact” from last night, you found the urge to complicate matters irresistible. Which, come to think of it, is also just what you do. If you were on top of things, keeping up with your usual pace, one or both of you would be naked now, at least. Instead, you have him talking about… robots, you think? And you can’t even manage to be an asshole about how much you do not give a shit about robots.

You’re way too sober for this.

What’s worse, you can’t see an easy fix for that. You’ve been drinking since you wandered into the club you ran across a few habitation sectors from Mellah’s place, and you continued drinking once you made it back to Mallek’s hive on his invitation. But drinking is a long slow road to the destination of sufficiently fucked up, and when the scenery along the way is watching yourself pretend to be interested in robots, every moment of that journey is un-fucking-bearable.

Of course, you know how you could shut him up, and distract yourself as well, for good measure.

Except… you don’t really want to shut him up. Aside from being disappointed in yourself-- and make no mistake, you are currently at the top of your own personal list of failures of the century-- you’re… actually totally okay with everything that’s happening right now, pretending to give a shit about robots included. You don’t, but Mallek does, and you could very easily keep him talking until the sun comes up, from the obtuse hand gestures he uses to try and illustrate whatever he’s explaining, to the intense blue of his eyes.

Not that you don’t want to do other things to him--

Okay, to be perfectly honest, you’re stalling. You’re not the kind of troll who calls back the evening after. Evenings after are full of expectations and promises you never meant to keep. So you go through with this and you’re done. And you’re not sure you want to be.

“caegar for your thoughts?” He grins at you like he’s caught you at something, which he has, in a sense; you totally dropped the recreation sphere on the whole robots thing.

You tilt your head enticingly. “Well, What do you think I’m thinking?”

“man; i dunno what = running through your thinkpan;”

You're a little irate at how effortlessly he’s able to parry and riposte your attempt to do the same to him, but that’s not a _ bad _ thing, per se, a little frustration can be blood in the water to pique your interest in a situation like this. Only, you wish it didn’t involve you being put on the spot to talk about things you’d rather avoid. So you pick option “shut him up” and kiss him.

His mouth is soft and cool and tastes a lot less like fried cheese noodles than you’d expect from the state of his hive, and a lot more like the stuff you’ve both been drinking. The sensation of Mallek’s barbell tongue piercing on your lips and the way it clatters against your fangs are the sort of novelty that you would be congratulating yourself for running across, if you weren’t so distracted by the stubborn speck of regret lodged in your chitinous windtunnel.

Clearly the best way to deal with this is to double down on pushing things forward, so you shove Mallek up against the two-story plate glass window that makes up one wall of his hive. He takes the move in stride. He takes _ everything _ in stride. You kind of want to see how far you can push that, but at the same time--

At the same time, there’s not really what you would call finesse to the way he responds to your kiss, just a complete and easy lack of hesitation, an empty space once filled with reluctance, now hollowed out by experience, and it occurs to you that you could stay here forever with him. Sure, quick one-off hook-ups were just what you always did, but you always knew exactly what would get Bronya’s sanctimonious bulge in the biggest knot, only now you might never speak to her again, and you’re faced with deciding what it is you really want for yourself and you’d really rather not.

You rake your fangs along his bottom lip and lap at the coppery blood they draw. His breath catches with a small, startled half-noise and you feel his claws at the small of your back as he clutches at your shirt. Things are getting back on track, now. This is what you wanted, you tell yourself.

You are immensely relieved, then, when he unclenches the fist at your back, takes you by the shoulders, and gently but firmly pushes you away.

“hold on;”

“What?” you taunt, wiping the remnants of cerulean from your mouth and licking the traces from your fingers. “Are you really scared of a little bite like that?”

Mallek shrugs. “nah; it = cool; that = the kind of thing i = down for; we just gotta talk things out first; it = called kink negotiation;”

“Wait, What?” You drop the whole ‘totally down for this’ act like it’s a cup you forgot you were holding.

“seems like you != done this before; it = chill;”

He has the _ gall _ to kind of pat you on the shoulder as he edges out from between you and the window. He leads you over to a meal slat and you follow because you’re too confused to do anything else, and sit across from him.

He smiles in that maddeningly straightforward way. “okay; so; since this = the first time; some stuff = out of the question; also; we need to establish safewords;”

“The first time?” you drawl. “Did you decide you Were my matesprit Without eVen consulting me?” Meanwhile, you feel all those questions and doubts returning, building into a shadowy form behind you.

“Nah; that != something im looking for right now;”

“Oh.”

“matespritship and kismessitude != the only kinds of sexual relationships; it = okay if something != exclusive; or commited; or romantic;”

“Very conVincing, why don’t you try giVing your little speech to-- “ but you can’t finish the sentence. Who is it that needs to hear that, really?

“sorry; that = a little off topic;” He grins and rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “you = naive; it = cute;”

“NaiVe isn’t really the look I Was going for, but I could play the part, if you insist.”

“nah; i mean; this != something youve done before; talking like this; it shows;”

He’s got you there, and you hate that you’re blushing over it. Or maybe you’ve been blushing the whole time? This entire conversation is kind of mortifying, no matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise.

If Mallek notices, he gives no sign of it. “some peeps in the scene = tired of going over basics; but it = always interesting to me;”

Is this… is this really what’s going down? Seems like it. You’re doing this thing. You’re making it happen. In spite of yourself, the two of you proceed to have one of the most honest and forthright discussions about sex in the history of Paradox Space.


	48. -> Mellah: Investigate.

Your client’s stalker has covered their tracks too well for you to trace them directly to any concrete identity. But you have connected the account used to contact Cirava to a number of others, which you can claim with a fair degree of certainty share a single author. And while the stalker has been careful not to disclose too much, the same cannot be said of everyone they spoke with.

This gives you a handful of leads, a few individuals with online presences large and incautious enough that you can scavenge sufficient intel to construct a persona to interact with them, and enough history of contact with your quarry to be likely sources of valuable information. They might not be eager to share that with you too quickly, but then, you know how to be persuasive.

You create a few burner accounts to approach your leads with. They aren’t full false identities-- there’s no need to go that far. Rather, they’re iterations of yourself which just so happen to share a few key interests with your leads, giving you a pretext to contact them. Though, given the cause for your investigation, you do cash in a favor with a guy you know to have him mask your location.

You proceed to make these contacts, through an assortment of posts, comments, and messages, and are just about to settle in for some more research into your new “interests” when you get a reply. Fancy that. Looks like someone’s eager to talk to you.

\--buzzingBright [BB] began trolling orphicConatus[OC]\--

BB: so uh….

BB: you liked one of my ficz?

BB: i don’t get many messagez about them

BB: theyre not very good

BB: sometimes i dont know why i keep posting

OC: really?

OC: I am quite new to the Fandom, so I would appreciate Forgiveness if I am mistaken, but I found your take on the relationship Dynamic most illuminating,

BB: thankz hehe

BB: i know most fanz see Jimmin and Arremm az pitch

BB: becauze of the whole theory about their rivalry to be lead singer

OC: I have not yet heard this Theory,

BB: i could link you a run down of it

BB: i guezz

BB: itz way more popular than anything i say

BB: Z:(

OC: if You are so inclined, I would rather you share your Interpretation of the Matter,

BB: really??

BB: Z:D

BB: thiz iz amazing!

BB: no one ever wantz to hear about my theoriez

BB: not even my friendz

BB: they all say im too boring

BB: and embarrassing….

OC: oh?

BB: but uh

BB: thatz kinda off topic

BB: so

BB: you said you wanted to hear my takez 

BB: on the Jimmin/Arremm pairing right??

OC: indeed,

BB: right so

BB: like i said most fanz see them pitch

BB: cauze they think Arremm iz trying to take Jimminz role as lead

BB: but i can tell thatz not really how they feel

BB: Arremm iz only pretending to challenge Jimmin to get hiz attention

BB: hiz feelingz are totally flushed hehe

OC: would You not consider such an Act, one of insincere Aggression, as that of a Moirail, meant to encourage the Recipient in their professional Endeavours?

BB: pfffffft

BB: i mean….

BB: i guezz you could see it that way

BB: but Jimmin and Arremm have so much chemistry together

BB: they wouldnt settle for something shallow like moirallegiance

BB: theyre way too cloze for that

OC: ah, certainly, now that You mention it, they really are too close to be Moirails,

BB: right?? hehe

BB: itz been great talking to another fan

BB: it getz lonely out here

BB: sigh

OC: you seem disappointed,

BB: i mean sure

BB: trolling one another is great and all

BB: but

BB: i just wish

BB: we could meet in person

BB: but you probably wouldnt want to

BB: Z:(

BB: none of my friendz want to visit me

BB: i get it

BB: they have more important thingz to do

BB: i would go see them….

BB: if i could

BB: but im stuck here with my lusuz

BB: Z:C

OC: well, if You wouldn’t mind, why not deliver your Coordinates to me, as I might be able to make the Journey,

BB: really??

BB: you would come visit me????

OC: indeed,

BB: ok here!!!

OC: ah, yes, I could come by tomorrow Night, as I have an Errand that will take me not far from You,

BB: ooooh!!!!

BB: do you get out here often?

OC: it would seem so, of Late,

BB: thiz iz so great!!

BB: you could come see me all the time hehe

BB: im so glad you trolled me

BB: Z:D

OC: my doing so has been a most fortuitous Event, it would seem,

BB: oh man

BB: therez so many thingz i need to get ready

BB: see you soon!

BB: Z:D

\--buzzingBright ceased trolling orphicConatus\--

You lean back in your seat with a sigh. The first lead you follow, and he’s more than willing to give you information the moment you ask for it. He’s almost making this too easy.

That you have just spent half an hour engaged in a discussion that treated real trolls as dolls to be flung together for one’s amusement is not lost on you, nor that if you’d had a speck of emotional investment in said conversation, you would be feeling pretty awful right now. But you weren’t, so the only difficulty you faced was in hiding your contempt. Not a terribly overwhelming difficulty, as you are well-practiced at it.

So, you now have plans for the following night, and tonight as well; it’s time for you to take a crash course in someone’s favorite band.

The things you do for money.


	49. ->Lanque: Get out of there.

So, it’s over.

You get dressed, your back to Mallek as he finishes untying himself. You focus on your claws, on the small act of fastening one button, then the next. That’s how you keep your hands from shaking. Experience has taught you how to do this.

You’re not going to pester him tomorrow evening.

You have his contact info, he made sure of tht. But you’re never going to use it. Maybe you’ll delete it tomorrow evening. Maybe you’ll delete it now. No matter what Mallek says about not wanting a matesprit, you know better than to get tangled up in whatever he’s got going on.

This is all so very familiar.

The subtle weight at the core of your limbs, pulling tension from your hinges. The creased fabric of your shirt under your fingertips. The rustle of someone behind you and the slight sting of letting go. Better if it’s by your own hands, though.

With that last thought, your attention is drawn to the scratches, still healing, on your forearm.

Why are you like this?

Well, as Mellah would say, we are all creatures of habit. And yours, apparently, is to pull this shit, and then go back to her.

You search for some cutting remark, some last jab before you leave to dissuade pursuit, but as you turn back to deliver it, whatever it would have been, you are stopped cold when you find Mallek standing way closer to you than you expected.

“What the--”

“hey; you look like shit;”

You bristle. Sure, you were about to insult him and ditch, but still. “Oh, _ thanks _ for that.”

“no; i mean; that = normal;” He tilts his head and grins at you sort of apologetically.

And now you’re just confused.

“here;”

He reaches out, wrapping an arm around your shoulders before you have a chance to react. Is he… hugging you? You shove him away.

“What kind of Vacillating bullshit is this?!” you spit.

Much to your dismay, Mallek fails to look properly offended by your accusation. He waits out the flash of your anger, standing quietly watching you until your shoulders slump and you look away.

“remember; we talked about this; it != quadrant vacillation; it != something you can opt out of either;”

“Sure,” you mutter, “just keep telling yourself that.”

He shuffles closer and bumps you affectionately on the upper arm. “so; we gonna do this; or am i gonna have to go around and tell everyone; that you = a shitty dom who skips aftercare;”

You say nothing and just… stand there.

The worst part is how much you want it. How much you want to just give in, to be that soft and gentle thing beneath his hand. And it scares you. You cannot be that thing.

But it’s already too late. In the time you were trying to gather resolve to throw that last nasty remark and go, you had already started to lean against Mallek beside you, without thinking. Inertia, damn it, now pushes you towards him-- to leave as you intended would be to claw against it.

And you want this too much, to pull away.

You allow yourself to be led over to the loungeplank, where once situated, Mallek slings one arm around your waist almost carelessly. He walked you through all of this earlier, just like he said. He explained mood drop as the perfectly normal and natural product of biological processes and chemical levels and honestly you might have blanked on some of it but you got the jist. And yet you still got caught off guard. Not by your own reaction-- as you've said, you knew that was coming from experience-- but by his.

“you = warm;” he murmurs, claws of his other hand brushing over yours on his collarbone.

You bury your face against his shoulder. At the very least, you can spare yourself his comment on whether he thinks you’re crying-- you aren’t entirely sure whether the treacherous dismay fluid beading on your lashes counts or not. At least you can spare yourself his pity.

Is that what this is? Pity? In spite of all assurances to the contrary? Or, perhaps more damningly, is that what you want it to be?


	50. ->Mellah: Return to your hive.

By the time you wrap things up at your office and head back, Lanque isn’t there. Well… good for him, whatever he’s up to. His time staying with you hasn’t been so prolonged as to establish any sort of expectation about his presence or lack thereof. You go about your routine unburdened by any further thoughts on the matter, preparing a meal and doing some light hivekeepin.

Dawn draws nearer and still no sign of him. Sinking down on the loungeplank, you pull out your palmhusk and swipe though your messages. It’s unnecessary, you tell yourself. He’s just as capable as you are of looking after himself, even if he’s not accustomed to life outside the caverns. And, you remind yourself, he wouldn’t thank you for worrying.

Life out here is dangerous, people die or get culled all the time. And you don’t merely know this in a vague, impersonal way, you’ve known plenty who have fallen victim to the harsh realities of Alternian life. Heck, that raid on the concert the other night? You lost an informant you’d been speaking to not two nights prior. But you’ve accepted that danger. That’s just the way things work around here.

For Lanque, the choice was between that danger and a life of suffocating limitations. He chose freedom. And in his place, you would have done the same.

With a sigh, you make to put away your palmhusk when a new message appears-- _not_ from the object of your rumination, however.

\--sapphoConvicted [SC] began trolling orphicConatus [OC]\--

SC: so a LittLe birdy toLd me you made it to the brooding caverns

SC: and came back with a pLus one LoL

OC: indeed, I have,

OC: am I to understand, by your Message, that He has been by to hit You up?

SC: nah

SC: not yet

SC: but Lets be honest

SC: its onLy a matter of time

OC: oh, make no Mistake, I find such a Statement to be completely unsurprising,

OC: and further, unremarkable,

SC: LoL

SC: LitLe miss straight-edge teLLing me she doesnt give a shit?

OC: precisely,

SC: Look

SC: knowing him

SC: i dunno how the two of you can stand each other

SC: without faLLing pitch

OC: well, We do manage, by some Means,

SC: Like

SC: with some of my exes man

SC: the nice ones

SC: we could NOT keep our fangs off each others throats

OC: One might speculate, it all comes down to the Fact that we have no Desire to change one another,

OC: We are content to live and let live, as it were,

OC: in any Case, I saw Bronya while I was making my Visit to the Cloister,

SC: oh

SC: forreaL?

OC: certainly,

SC: how did she seem?

OC: I would say She seemed preoccupied,

SC: yeah?

OC: I would not say so, were it not the Case,

SC: what dyou think shes got in her thinkpan?

OC: I am afraid, I could not begin to tell You,

SC: dyou think shes Like

SC: hug up on something that happened a whiLe ago

SC: or someone

OC: One could not rule out such a Possibility,

SC: heh

SC: i knew it

SC: shes pretending to be over it aLL

SC: but shes totaLLy not

SC: thanks straight-edge

SC: this was definiteLy worth it

OC: You would consider my Debt repaid, then?

SC: yeah sure

SC: weLL

SC: ttyL then

\--sapphoConvicted [SC] ceased trolling orphicConatus [OC]\--

You’re well aware you let her walk away with the wrong impression, but then, you rather suspect she would have gotten it regardless of what you told her. Given the way she misconstrues the details of what she knows about you, that is. Everything is a mirror to her, and she can't even seem to admit it.

You’re about to go back through everything again-- reading old messages, refreshing your inbox half a dozen times-- when you concede, with a sigh, that there is a better way to go about this.

\--orphicConatus [OC] began trolling tempestuousCalyptra [TC]\--

OC: so,

OC: having returned to my Hive, I cannot help but notice, You are not here,

TC: Oh?

TC: I Was unaWare that my stay at your hiVe involved a curfeW.

OC: there is no such Requirement,

OC: but might You tell me, whether You intend to return Tonight, or not,

OC: not as a matter of Obligation, but merely a Courtesy,

TC: no, I Won’t.

OC: You won’t tell me, or You won’t be back?

TC: The latter.

TC: WhyeVer Would you ask?

TC: Are you so raVenous to pick apart the carcass of my eVening?

OC: no more than You are to share it with me, rest assured,

TC: Well then, you shall haVe to starVe, until tomorrow eVening, at the least.

OC: very well,

OC: do remember to get me that List, though, won’t You?

OC: I’ve cleared my Schedule for tomorrow, so that I might make the Journey back to the Cloister,

OC: preferably earlier in the Evening, rather than later,

TC: Careful, Mellah, or you’ll start to sound like a nagging bitch.

OC: perish the Thought,

TC: Or Worse, someone responsible.

OC: I could never endure such a Fate, this Accusation is too cruel,

TC: You had better do something rash then, or eVeryone Will start to see through you.

OC: I must,

OC: but until then, the List?

TC: I’ll haVe it to you by the eVening.

OC: excellent,

\--orphicConatus [OC] ceased trolling tempestuousCalyptra [TC]\--

And so, you have no further reason to stay awake, and as such, you do not, and retire to your respiteblock.


	51. ->Mellah: Dream again.

You are here again, back beneath the stars.

(these iron inklings)

You run through a silvery wood, on animal feet. You are the fleet thing between the trees, predator and prey, two hearts beating as one, two lives laid out together in the length of your strides--

(whose light happened

thousands of years before

our pain did)

There is a beauty in it, in the ferocity of the balance--

A revelation of the world unfolds in kaleidoscope form, all sides at once in myriad repetition-- the greens of the wood and the blood of the kill and the young in the den-- all spring out from this point, this chase, and then collapse once more into it.

all one and all are beautiful

You are the hunter and the hunted, that which chases and that which is chased and the palm which holds the ring around which they run, which lifts it in reverence and offering.

(they keep their distance)

And always,

always,

always,

\-- you are the joy that runs through your veins at the pure freedom of running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More lines from "Outside History" by Eavan Boland


	52. ->Mellah: Return to the Cloister.

Come nightfall, you are still alone in your hive. You had no reason to expect otherwise. You promptly go about your usual evening routine and, with a few final preparations, depart for your scuttlebuggy and a night of running about hither and yon outside of the city. Such is the nature of your work.

You slide into the seat and input your first destination-- the Cloister. Already, it feels familiar, like a place you’ve been to many times before. As your vehicle pulls out into traffic, you spend a very brief moment reflecting on this sensation. Perhaps it is a quality of the location in question-- a world in microcosm so completely circumscribed by its boundaries that it stirs nostalgia in any bloodpusher with even the most fleeting acquaintance with it.

No wonder Lanque was so desperate to get away from there.

But you do not allow your thoughts to linger overlong on this topic. You pull out hour palmhusk, relieved to find that the fugitive in question has, in fact, come through and sent you the list you requested. And, it seems, that in finding this out, you have alerted him to the fact that you are currently checking your messages.

\-- tempestuousCalyptra [TC] began trolling orphicConatus [OC] \--

TC: GiVe me an honest ansWer, Would you?

TC: Do you pity me?

OC: oh dear, am I going to have to clear my Schedule, to spend seven Hours sitting on the Floor of some stranger’s ablution Block?

OC: well, at the least, You have done me the Courtesy of contacting me directly, this Time,

TC: Oh, fuck you Mellah.

TC: I’m sober.

TC: For noW, anyWays.

TC: Only Wishing I Wasn’t.

OC: in that Case, did you do Something yesterday Morning, which You have now come to regret?

TC: Fuck you again.

OC: shall I take that as a Yes?

TC: By all means, keep caVorting around the question like it isn’t blatantly obVious to both of us.

OC: look, Darling,

OC: if You will pardon my western Alternian, I put up with a lot of Shit from you,

OC: and I do not mind, really I do not,

OC: but We have always dealt in Honesty with one another,

OC: and now, I believe, You are fucking with me,

TC: And from What haVe you draWn this conclusion?

OC: You are not one for Sentimentality, nor am I,

OC: Pity and Hate are the Crumbs, thrown to the Objects of your idle Amusement,

OC: You are far too clever to be taken in by such Distractions, as am I,

TC: You’re right, of course.

TC: You’Ve caught me.

TC: What the hell Was I thinking, asking a question like that?

OC: rest assured, I have no Intent to bear you any ill Will about the Matter,

OC: after all, it is not in my Nature to hold a Grudge,

OC: and it is early in the Evening, especially for You,

TC: You knoW, you Won’t be able to aVoid Bronya playing make-belieVe as matron of the Cloister just because you got up early.

OC: somehow, I find that not the least Bit surprising,

TC: Really, you’Ve got so much in common With that insufferable bitch, the tWo of you could be hatched for each other.

OC: I will be certain to mention it to Her, should our Paths cross,

OC: She is sure to be ecstatic to see me, given how my last Visit to the Cloister went,

TC: Send her my pity, While you’re at it.

OC: of course,

OC: and most sincerely, I assume,

TC: AlWays.

TC: I almost could pity her, actually, if she didn’t haVe such a sanctimonious tree frond shoVed up her nook.

TC: It really is pathetic, the Way she scurries about, Working herself into a frenzy, as if any of it Will make any difference to anyone, especially those little projects she’s alWays so afraid of the empire finding out about.

TC: And it’s not like anyone would giVe a damn What she told them to do if she didn’t haVe the drones at her posture pole.

TC: Fucking cunt.

OC: oh my, You really do wax sentimental in the Evenings,

TC: This is all purely hypothetical, though.

TC: My sympathy for her ran dry a long time ago.

OC: I can only imagine, spending several Nights chained up in a Tortureblock upon her Request must not have done wonders for your Estimation of her,

TC: It Wasn’t eVen that.

TC: I’Ve knoWn she Was crazy enough to pull some shit like it for sWeeps.

TC: I Wasn’t surprised When she finally did, and I couldn’t eVen really think less of her.

OC: are You, now, making a Play to win my Sympathies?

TC: No.

TC: Like you said.

TC: We're aboVe that sappy bullshit.

OC: indeed,

OC: we are,

OC: don’t You dare pity me, Lanque,

TC: Nor you me.

OC: I will see you later Tonight, I presume?

TC: I Would expect so.

\-- orphicConatus [OC] ceased trolling tempestuousCalypta [TC] \--

You look up from your palmhusk to check your progress. From the dark nightscape outside your window, you can tell you’ve left the city, and a glance at your onboard navigation tells you that you’re a ways yet from your destination. Time enough to steel your nerves, if you needed to. But you don’t.

And time enough to type up a quick update for Miss Carmia, spinning a false tale of preliminary investigations into her case. She replies.

who do you thiiink iii am? your personal memoiiigrapher? just fiiind me that giiirl.

You smile. If she isn’t expecting reports, so much the easier for you.


	53. -> Lanque: Abscond.

You really wish Mellah were less right about you regretting what you did yesterday morning. Or perhaps, not what you _did_, specifically. But you feel as if a thin film of unease coats your entire body and everything you touch, and a long time spent standing under the spray of Mallek’s ablution trap does nothing to dispel the sensation.

You don’t regret sleeping with him. You’re not some uptight prude who thinks that’s a bad thing somehow. You don’t regret possibly interfering with whatever Mellah’s got going on with him, either. If it does inconvenience her, and you don’t know that it will, she’ll get over it. She always does. It’s not even a matter of trying to get under her exoskeleton, because she just. Doesn’t. Care.

You step out, dry off, and put on the same clothes you wore last night.

Your one-day host was already up and working at his husktop when you woke up. He gave no notice while you checked your palmhusk and pestered Mellah, nor when you wandered off to find his ablution block. But as you return, he looks up.

“oh; hey;”

“Good eVening.”

Mallek pushes away from the husktop. Stands. Stretches. You remember the arch of his back where you can’t see it beneath his sweatshirt.

“you hungry?” he asks.

“No.”

He gives you a long look, a little quizzical and almost amused. You think he might ask some sort of question that you really don’t want to answer, or make some observation to similar effect. He doesn’t.

“alright; you = on your way out?”

“Yes.”

He nods. “that = cool; see you around; then;”

“Sure.”

You don’t have some barbed quip ready to throw at him in parting. Even if you did, he’s already turned away and gotten back to whatever he’s doing, leaving you to see yourself out. Not that it’s hard. The vertical transport shaft is right there.

But before stepping out onto the street once you make it down, you hesitate, then hang back. Sure, you _could_ head out into the Alternian night and see what it brings you, but for once, you’d rather have a destination in mind.

That same unese is still there, needling at you. Of course, you know how to avoid thinking about things you’d rather not deal with. You’ve had lots of practice. This sensation, though, almost like an itch. Is this how addicts feel?

For all that you care not a bit how others might see your vices, it irks you to think that you could be chained to anything, even your own means of escape. But the moment the thought starts to take form, you brush it away. What are you thinking? Existential malaise and chemical dependency have nothing to do with one another.

You pull out your palmhusk.

\--tempestuousCalyptra [TC] began trolling sapphoConvicted [SC]\--

TC: So.

SC: LoL

SC: heard you were around

SC: wondered when you were gonna drop me a Line

TC: Well, as you can see, I am doing so noW.

SC: no shit Lmao

SC: you Looking for the usuaL?

TC: Why don’t you surprise me?

SC: pffft

SC: Like thats not what you aLways say

SC: but yknow

SC: i didnt even say i was seLLing tonight

TC: Are you, then?

SC: youre in Luck

SC: im doin the rounds at a LittLe get together

SC: just me and a few paLs

TC: By Which I’m sure you mean a huge party that I’m going to be underdressed for.

SC: weLL i mean

SC: i guess you couLd caLL it that

SC: LoL

SC: but youre weLcome to drop by

TC: Just giVe me the location.

SC: you got it

sapphoConvicted [SC] ceased trolling tempestuousCalyptra [TC] \--

Your palmhusk chirps as the promised information is delivered. The spot it indicates is inconveniently far, but not prohibitively so. And besides, it’s not like you have anything else to do tonight.

With a destination in mind, you step out into the night.


	54. -> Mellah: Descend into the brooding caverns, again.

This time, as you pull up to the cliff face, pale in the moonlight and punctuated by the dark entrance to the caverns below, you are moved by caution to pull your scuttlebuggy further out of the way than last time, leaving it behind a particularly convenient outcropping of rock. Your purpose tonight might be less inherently confrontational, but you would not put it past Bronya, much less Lynera, to have resolved themselves in your enmity.

As you came here to retrieve Lanque’s belongings, you have brought a cylindrical gripsack with you, and you pack some of your tools and accessories into it, those which you need not have immediately on hand, before slinging it over your shoulder. You secure your vehicle and begin your journey into the cave, switching on your luminescent baton as the dark envelops you. Under your strutpods, the crushed rock of the well-worn path crunches lightly, and a faint breeze stirs the hem of your sleeveless trench coat.

Perhaps it is merely the product of your imagination, but a distant noise has you instantly at alert. Stepping into an alcove at the side of the path, you switch off your light. Standing still in the silent dark, you hold your breath, straining your auricular canals to catch even the smallest hint of a sound.

There.

You’re certain you heard it this time. And the longer you wait, listening, the clearer it becomes. Someone is moving about. Coming closer.

You stay put. Waiting.

Standing as you are a ways back from the main path, the pitch black of the cavern will shield you from detection, most likely, so long as you make no move to reveal yourself. You need only remain where you are, quiet and still, until whoever is moving towards you moves on. Their steps draw nearer.

A light breaks the darkness, casting about as its bearer walks

But… it’s coming from the wrong direction. The steps you heard were coming-- are still coming-- from deeper into the caverns, while the light, the noise of whose bearer you can only now make out, is headed into the cave from outside, and must have entered after you. You quickly chalk the auditory discrepancy up to some sort of acoustic oddity of the caves themselves and prepare yourself.

If the two meet some distance away from you, you might use the confusion of the encounter as cover for your own escape, either further in towards the Cloister to fulfill your purpose here or back outside to return at a later time. But if it’s too near to you, it will put you at a greater risk of discovery.

The troll coming in from outside is nearer, and reaches you first. In the scant reflected beams of their luminescent baton, you can barely make out a figure you don’t recognize. As they pass, you make a split-second decision to do them and everyone-- yourself included-- a favor.

In one swift motion, you reach out, controlling the light with one hand and clamping the other over the stranger’s mouth.

A brief and muted struggle ensues. Lucky for you, the other intruder isn’t among the more physically gifted trolls, and you manage to pull them back into the alcove without alerting whoever’s coming from the other direction, switching off their luminescent baton in the process.

“shhh,” you hiss.

Perhaps realizing your purpose in silencing them-- to avoid both of you being discovered-- they acquiesce, and leave off their attempts to pry your hand away from their mouth. The two of you stand silent and tense as the light of yet another luminescent baton splashes over the walls of the cavern.

Despite the low light, you recognize its holder immediately-- Lynera.

She marches past your hiding spot without hesitation. You glimpse the hint of a scowl on her expression plate, probably not much different from how she looks most of the time, but even so, you wonder where she’s headed.

As Lynera’s steps fade in the distance, you loosen your grip on the other intruder, who turns around to shine their light directly into your gander bulbs. Biting back a curse, you throw up a hand to fend off the blinding wash.

“oh wwwwhoops, i’mmmm really sorry about that”

Given the monotone they speak in, you can’t make out whether they’re being sincere or malicious. Either way, the luminescent baton is lowered, and as your vision slowly returns, you make out a tealblood woman, about your own age, wearing the universal uniform of people who have very little care for what they are wearing. Nerds, in particular-- she is a teal after all-- complete with unflattering glasses.

“so uh” she shuffles a bit. “nice to mmmmeet you?” She holds out a hand.

You take it. No need to be rude, after all. “charmed, I’m sure,”

“i’mmmm tyzias entykk”

She’s probably hoping that you’ll reciprocate by offering your name in turn. But you're not quite ready to reveal that detail just yet, not when you have another that you think she will find far more pressing.

“ah, well in that Case, as it would so happen, I have heard of You,”


	55. -> Tyzias: Find out how she knows about you.

You were just about to take a sip from your mug, but her last line caught you off guard, and you hold it half-raised and peer over it at your-- well, at the troll who just made sure you didn’t get caught, and who says she’s heard of you. By name, anyways. You’re pretty sure she didn’t recognize you by appearance. But still, you know when you’ve been put at a disadvantage.

“wwwwait really?”

“what Reason could I possibly have, in claiming as much, if the Truth were otherwise?”

Fair enough. You finish your sip and lower the mug. “howwww? i mmmmean, i haven’t wwwworked any really immmmportant cases yet”

“we share, I believe, a mutual Acquaintance, Tagora Gorjek,”

“oh, sore-gor?” You smirk. “he still wwwwhining about that group project i aced for us?”

She gives you a smile that _ seems _ pleasant enough. Friendly, even. You’re not especially put off by the front, but you do recognize it for what it is. Not like you’ve missed that she’s stalling giving you her name, after all.

“I think, now that You mention it, that the Subject might have been broached on some Occasion or another,”

You don’t quite bother to hold back a snort of laughter. Of course he did.

But just because you can dunk on that guy with this new troll doesn’t mean you can get too complacent. She did still catch you somewhere you shouldn’t be, in the process of doing something you really shouldn’t be doing-- those archives you and Daraya are going to look into are probably sealed for a reason. And while she might assume that you and she are lashed to the same flogging pole, and not try to use it as leverage against you, you can’t be sure about that.

“so wwwwhat, are you twwwwo friends?” you ask, hoping that by sticking to the common point between you and her, you can coax her into revealing more about herself.

However, she once more avoids supplying any additional information.

“I would not go so far as to say that much, really,”

“wwwwell?”

“He is, One might say, a professional Contact of mine,”

“see,” you shoot back, and you can’t help smirking a bit, “that just wwwwinds up begging the question, wwwwhat kind of profession?”

But it seems that she’s done playing hunt-and-sequester with the info, because with a very intentional and possibly somewhat dramatic motion, she pulls out what looks to be a business card and hands it to you.

Holding it up to your luminescent baton, you read out, “mmmmellah wwwweisse, personal inquixecutor”

You pocket the card.

“in any Case,” Mellah comments, “I should not want to tarry overlong, given our current Location, and while I am sure that further Conversation would be most pleasant, We have not found ourselves at an Occasion best suited for such,”

That’s a point you must concede. You shrug. “aren’t you gonna ask mmmme wwwwhat i’mmmm doing here?”

She gives you a steady look. Piercing, even. “that is a Detail is one which I presume to be your own Concern, as my Business here is likewise mine,”

“fair enough”

She steps out of the alcove, back onto the path, and you follow after, watching. She’s quiet, when she isn’t talking. Not like a hunter stalking her prey, but… like she’s broken into places before. Which she almost certainly has.

It’s what she does, after all. Or part of it, anyways.

You’re still working out the implications of that.

For one, this doesn’t _ necessarily _ mean that you have one over on Gorjek, knowing he works with her. Not that he wouldn’t sell her the whole Empire, if he had it, for the right price. And not that she doesn’t know that. But if you want to implicate him in anything actually criminal, you’re going to need more evidence. There’s plenty of ways that a junior legislacerator could be useful to a P.I. like this Mellah Weisse _ without _ breaking any laws, and the reverse as well.

Which brings you to the next thing. Because hey, you _ can _ imagine plenty of ways that she could be useful to you, as well. If, you know, she isn’t terribly bothered by a slight bit of treason. Sure, sneaking into the Cloister indicates that she has no qualms about day-to-day legal transgressions, but when it comes to actions against the Empire, that could change. She could turn you in to be culled for suggesting it.

There’s always that.

You like to believe in people. That, given the free choice, most trolls would do the right thing, most of the time. But the system you live in isn’t free, and it isn’t kind-- it’s pretty much exactly the opposite of those things, in every way possible, as your studies have exhaustively taught you. And it holds particular enmity for people who think like you, if it finds you. Like any machine of torment, it’s made of cogs-- in this case, cogs that happen to be shaped a whole lot like people.

You’d like to trust your fellow trolls, because you like to believe in them. But instead, because finding people like you and putting them through all sorts of horrific punishments is part of their function as cogs in the system, you’ve got to watch your back. And you can tell, even though she’s left it turned to you the whole time you’ve been walking, that Mellah Weisse is doing the same. Not a bad sign, necessarily, but not a good one, either.

Said back of the troll in question comes to a halt, and you realize that the two of you have reached the large cavern that houses the Cloister itself. She turns to you, smiling once more.

“well, it has certainly been a Pleasure,”

“yeah, sure” Not that it hasn’t, but you just can’t summon up the enthusiasm, especially not when you don’t think she’s being entirely sincere.

“it would seem, however, that the Time has come for the Two of us to part Ways,”

She once more holds out a hand, and once more, you take it. Then, as she said, the two of you each go off on your own.


	56. -> Daraya: Be the accomplice, go on the heist.

Ugh, no.

You’re not Tyzias’ accomplice. The two of you are equals. You each bring your own skills and experience, and--

Oh, who are you kidding?

Tyzias could pretty much do this without you. And you? You wouldn’t know where to start. Like, what are you even looking for, here? Last time-- well, last time you _ found _ what you were looking for, and didn’t get stuck fumbling around a locked door-- Tyzias ran across some footnote on some musty old journal, and got all excited about it. Well, as excited as she ever gets.

She tried to explain, but you still don’t get it. Jades were keeping records on something-- what’s new there? Your “sacred duty” has always come with a shitload of paperwork, if a wiggler so much as farts out of line you can bet Bronya will be right on your gastric evacuation gland with a whole stack of forms to fill out.

So anything that’s ever happened at the Cloister, of _ course _ the Jades recorded it. You don’t get what’s so special about that.

You tap your strutpod impatiently. Tyzias should be here already. Like, not that you’re _ worried _ or anything. That would be lame.

But… you do know that Lynera took tonight off, because you’ve had to spend it dodging Bronya, who was trying to drag you off for senior Jade duties. And she wouldn’t be going after _ you _ if anyone else was around. But with Lanque gone, the list of “anyone else” has gotten pretty short.

“sorry for the wwwwait”

You turn to see your-- to see Tyzias approaching your agreed-upon meeting spot.

“∆ no kidding ∇”

“ran into a couple of trolls on mmmmy wwwway here”

“∇ yeah? ∆”

You kinda hate how, like, _ actually _ curious you sound there.

“your girl lynera, for one” She takes a sip from her ever-present mug and you fight back the urge to protest at her calling Lynera “your girl.” “and sommmme personal inquixecutor goes by mmmmellah wwwweisse”

“∆ oh… her ∇”

“you knowwww her too?” Tyzias raises an eyebrow at you.

“∆∆∆ ughhhh ∇∇∇” You roll your eyes. “∆ i dont wanna talk about it ∇”

Your companion shrugs. “Sure”

She heads off towards that door to that archive you’re meeting up to look into in the first place, and you follow her. A few corridors on, you realize that you’re hanging back, slouching and dragging your strutpods like you don’t wanna be here. It’s a habit-- usually, you don’t wanna be anywhere.

But you don’t wanna be like that now, when you and Tyzias are actually doing shit that might actually matter. So you pick up the pace and wind up bobbing by her shoulder and wow, you fucking hate that. Why can’t you just _ walk _ with her, like a normal person? Ugh.

And then you open your ignorance shaft and start talking.

“∇ so like that troll mellah weisse ∆”

“yeah?”

“∇ so there was this guy at the cloister lanque who was a real asshole and a fuckup ∆” You pause to clear your chitinous whindhole and it sounds a lot more awkward than you wish it did, but oh well. “∇ like i know im a fuckup but... ∆” and also maybe an asshole, but you don’t add that part.

You trail off, and only a half-nod from Tyzias keeps you going but you kind of wish it didn’t.

“∇ anyways she shows up out of nowhere and gets him out of here for good ∆”

“Do you wwwwish she had taken you instead?”

“∇ nah i mean ∆” You let out a long sigh. “∆ i dont know her or anything ∇”

“but he does?”

"∇ wellllllll ∆” You look down at your big, clunky boots. Are you _ blushing _? “∇ i didnt meet her or talk to her or anything back then but lanque started texting someone all the time and you know how word gets around ∆”

You really wish you could stop talking, because this is _ not _ something you want to get into with Tyzias, of all people. There isn’t really anyone you _ do _ wanna get into it with, but she’s at the bottom of the list. You’re pretty sure she sees you as enough of a dumb wiggler as-is, without having you spill your abdominal sausages about this kind of meaningless drama.

But you don’t stop, not yet.

“∇ like i dunno maybe he pitied her or she pitied him or something maybe thats why she got him out of here ∆”

And with that, when it’s pretty much totally too late, you finally manage to shut up. Your face is definitely bright green right now, you can feel it.

Your thinkpan is swimming with thoughts, exactly the _ wrong _ kind of thoughts on a serious heist like this. But you can’t help but imagine. A romantic rescue-- is that what that was? Is that even something you’d want for yourself? Isn’t it? Could it be something you’re chasing _ right now _?

Procreation is forbidden the moment you’re sent off-planet and always kind of off-limit already, just like you’re _ kind of _ not supposed to sneak out of the caverns, ever, but everyone does. Well, you hardly do, but everyone else does. But if it was a moirail, or a matesprit took you away from all of this--

Oh. Right. The door.

You’re almost relieved when you come up to it and finally have something else to focus on. You kneel down and pull out the lockpicking devices, doing your best to give off the impression that you’ve totally got this. It’s all new to you, and you do fumble a bit, but you manage in the end.

The lock clicks open.


	57. -> Tyzias: Make a shocking discovery.

The block on the other side of the room is big, and old, an unnervingly well-organized. Neat rows of shelves, some empty, but most methodically lined with marbled black composition tomes, each with a span of dates handwritten on its spine. The sight fills you with a subtle dread which you cannot name.

As you step carefully past the threshold, Daraya huffs at your shoulder.

“∆ just another recordblock ∇” She shuffles in behind you, pulling the door shut. “∆ i dont get whats so special about that ∇”

What _ is _ so special about that?

“i dont knowwww” you admit. “are mmmmost recordblocks kept behind locked doors?”

“∆ well no ∇” she concedes.

“then wwwwhy this one?”

She shrugs.

Both of you let your attention drift back to the shelves and their contents. The source that led you here indicated that all Cloisters have such a block, and that terrible secrets are concealed within. You’re not entirely sure what kind of terrible secrets, or what they look like, or where to start looking for them.

Of course, you could just pull a composition tome off the nearest shelf at random, open it, see what you find inside, and work from there. But you hesitate, and Daraya does likewise.

You’re not sure what stops you. Your opinion of Alternia couldn’t possibly get any worse, could it? And you sure don’t have any attachments to the sanctity of the Jades’ unique calling, do you?

Or maybe you do.

Maybe that’s something you couldn’t avoid, growing up on Alternia. That image of the jadeblood caste as separate, apart, held half in reverence, half in contempt. In your disillusionment, it had grown dormant, but then… then you ran across accounts of the Dolorosa. And maybe, just maybe, it all came back in a new form. Maybe, deep down, you still think of the Jades as gentle and caring, and you’re afraid of finding out otherwise.

Maybe you wouldn’t have been so quick to trust Daraya with your secrets if she’d been from any other caste.

You move back through the temporally-arranged archive. Your source is ancient, so it only makes sense that whatever you’re looking for would be further back, wouldn’t it? You certainly aren’t trying to distance yourself from whatever you find. Daraya follows.

At last, you reach a shelf that strikes you as suitably antiquated, remove one eerily pristine volume at random, and open it.

“∇ what is it? ∆” the teen at your shoulder asks.

“give mmmme a mmmmommmment to figure it out”

It’s not immediately obvious what you’re looking at. Upon first glance, it looks like… lists. Pages and pages of lists. Dates, with comments beside them and columns of signs underneath. At first, you think it might be hatching records. The Jades keep those, certainly, but not usually locked up.

Beth then you start reading the notes.

“∆ oh shit ∇”

_ Quota met _ . What does that mean? _ Undesirable conformation _ . Oh. _ Redundant heiress _. Oh no.

These aren’t hatching records.

They’re culling records.

Of wigglers who were barely hatched.

That awful gnawing feeling, always waiting for you somewhere deep in your acid tracts, sneaks back. You thought you’d hit rock bottom, seeing clearly all the shitty things your fucked up empire is capable of, but nope, it keeps finding new lows to have… already sunk to. Daraya shuffles off, evidently having seen enough, but you flip through a few more pages, just soaking in the horror of what’s written there. One entry catches your eye.

Every other entry has a sign attached, but not this one.

This one just has a comment-- _ mutant hemotype: crimson _.

Crimson.

You reach instinctively to grasp at a spot just below your throat. There’s nothing there, it’s far too dangerous to keep something like that on your person. But you think you’re starting to understand what kind of secrets are concealed here, and why your source mentioned it.

It’s bad enough that wigglers are being culled at the Cloister, pretty much en masse, if the numbers of entries and dates you saw are anything to go by. The idea that the Alternian Empire is so cruel because it has to be, because _ this is just the way things are _ is the grease that keeps the whole mechanism running smoothly. But this is too tidy, too controlled to be “just the way things are”.

What’s more, it contradicts the imperial line that the castes, as they are commonly known to be, are absolute, and that there are no mutant hemotypes.

You don’t have time to think that through, though, because you jump out of your exoskeleton at the sudden, unmistakable _ thwap _ of a composition tome being thrown across the block, followed by a shriek from Daraya.


	58. -> Tyzias: Find out what Daraya is up to.

Whatever danger or distress Daraya might be in, habit has taught you to cover your tracks first, run towards the screams second. You hurry to pick up the volume you dropped, then look over in the Jade’s direction. She’s invisible behind the shelves, but by the sound of it, she’s over by the entrance.

Retracing your footsteps much more quickly than you came, you find her by the door, on her knees and curled over, arm wrapped around herself. Maybe she notices you and maybe she doesn’t, but as you approach, she lets out another howl of anguish.

You don’t know what sent her over the edge, but you do get what’s going on here. You’ve wanted to scream like that plenty of times.

Nevertheless, just like all those times haven’t been, now  _ really  _ isn’t the time.

Gathering up every last bit of patience and compassion you can muster, you bend down.

“daraya”

Her response is predictable. “∇∇∇ SHUT UP ∆∆∆”

“yeah so i dunno wwwwhat you found but i knowwww it wwwwas bad”

She looks up at you, the eyeliner that had already been smudged running down her cheeks in tracks.

“∇∇∇ you dont know ANYTHING ∆∆∆” she spits horsely.

“you think i havent read about plenty of fucked up shit mmmmy caste has done?”

“∇∇∇ SHUT UP ∆∆∆” she shouts again.

You give her a second, but by your rough calculation, you’re running short on those.

“wwwwe have to get out of here” you tell her, reining in the panic in your voice as best you can. “nowwww”

“∆∆∆ why ∇∇∇”

You could tell her that after hearing her shrieking, there’s a good chance that someone is headed your way, and getting caught is very likely to lead to serious fallout, for both of you. But she’s not stupid. She knows that. That’s not what she’s asking.

“once wwwwe get out of here you can go do wwwwhatever you wwwwant about it” Remembering the mug of water in your hand, you take a sip. “but if you get caught theres no going back”

She catches that you didn’t say “we” in that last bit.

“∇ youre going to leave me ∆” she asks, looking every bit as lost and hurt as you wish she didn’t.

“i dont wwwwant to” You sigh. “but if you wwwwont commmmme with mmmme i mmmmight have to”

That’s the bitter truth of it. If you really believe in what you’re doing here-- and you do-- then no matter how much you sympathize with Daraya, you can’t let her take you down with her if that’s where she’s headed. You can’t let the faint light of your understanding, of the secret histories you’ve discovered, be snuffed out.

If worst comes to worst, you can’t stay with her.

When did you become so practical?

But for now, you reach your hand out to Daraya, a gesture which strikes you as carrying much greater symbolic weight than you are entirely comfortable with. You don’t want to turn one moment when she’s feeling kind of shitty into a pivotal choice or anything, but it seems like that’s happening regardless of your intent.

She hesitates, then takes your outstretched hand with her own, firmly.

Good.

With a modicum of struggling between you, you get her to her feet. Once there, she pulls her hand back gingerly, scrubbing ineffectively at the smeared makeup on her face, clearly already embarrassed at having made a scene. You wish there was something you could say to reassure her, but any attention you draw to the fact that she was just curled up screaming on the ground is sure to make the matter worse.

You spot the composition tome she flung across the block and retrieve it. You’re curious, of course, as to what about its contents was so particularly upsetting to her, but you can’t risk another meltdown right now, so you shove it back onto a nearby shelf without a word.

“∆ no thats not-- ∇”

With a dramatic sigh, Daraya takes the tome and re-shelves it two shelves down and slightly to the left, presumably in its proper spot.

“∆ shell notice if its out of place ∇”

“wwwwell i prommmmise you wwwwhoever she is shell notice even mmmmore if wwwwere still here”

“∆ yeah ok ∇”

The Jade teen puts up no further resistance as you lead her out of the recordblock, hearing the lock on the door click shut as you pull it closed behind you. You flee the scene, not entirely sure where you’re heading, but wanting to put as much space between you and that aforementioned scene as quickly as possible.

And none too soon. As you duck around a corner, you hear footsteps rushing towards the place you just came from. Your bloodpusher is pounding in your throat. You’re used to finding your info by digging around places you’re allowed, but no one aside from you is a big enough nerd to bother with. All this cloak-and-laser stuff is really not your speed. This was a much closer escape than you ever hoped it would be, and the material you’ve uncovered is by far not the most inflammatory you’ve ever run across.

Well, except for one detail.

But what you’re going to make of that detail… only time will tell


	59. -> Mellah: Be done with the Cloister.

The rest of your operation goes off without a hitch. You get in, grab everything on the list Lanque sent you, plus a few extra items you think he’ll appreciate, and get out. You’re back to your scuttlebuggy with no one the wiser, save for one trespassing tealblood.

But you know an opportunity when you see one. You’ll be expecting a message from her some time in the future.

On to you next item of business, then.

You input the location of your new… contact, checking to see that the route makes sense before you depart. Wouldn’t want to be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, would you? Everything looks to be in order, so you begin the next leg of your journey.

With a sigh, you pull out your palmhusk to go over, one more time, a few of the details about these pretty-boy troll singers that a purported fan like you should know. But you find yourself met by the same mysterious blank window which always heralds a message from your Guardian. Just as you’re bracing for _ that _ encounter, whatever it might bring, words appear. Words that aren’t pure white.

Ouraboros: you = right; i need answers;

orphicConatus: well, well,

OC: I must admit, it is something of a Surprise, to receive a Communication from you in this Format,

O: lets be honest; this = some serious shit;

O: that = why i = pulling out the high security protocol here;

O: it = tight as fuck; no empire drone = gonna be scanning this for dissident leanings;

OC: of that much, I am certain,

OC: nevertheless,

OC: I hardly expected to hear from You, not so soon after our first Encounter,

O: really?

O: cause i thought you sold it pretty hard;

OC: either Way, You wish to take me up on my Proposal, I take it,

O: i have to;

OC: on the Contrary, as I said, the Choice is yours,

O: what; so i can keep banging my thinkpan against what we both know = a brick wall;

O: that != a choice;

O: that = torture;

OC: were it not the Case that You chose to believe me, I cannot imagine that it would be Such,

O: that != a choice either;

OC: well, whatever the Reasoning, it is your own,

OC: and I would not begrudge you such Hesitation, in this Matter especially,

OC after all, both our Lives hang in the Balance, do they not?

O: you = right;

O: you = risking as much as i = risking; if not more;

O: if we get caught; we = both culled;

OC: impressing upon me, if such is your Intent here, the Severity of the Risk involved, would be futile, as make no Mistake, I am well aware already,

O: that = the thing;

O: this = such a big risk; so;

O: what = in it for you;

OC: and here, I thought that much was obvious,

O: nah;

O: nothing about you = obvious;

O: least of all what you want; what you = aiming for;

O: the cases you take; there != any kind of pattern to them;

O: i checked;

OC: oh, did You, now?

O: yeah;

O: and what it looks like = this; you take any job; so long as it pays;

OC: there, see, You have it precisely, that is the Pattern you were looking for,

OC: and, if I might say as much, You would sound every bit the arrogant Highblood, were you to suggest that I could afford to do otherwise,

O: that != an answer to my question;

OC: then, perchance, You have not asked the right Question,

O: fine;

O: lemme take another swing of the flail at asking; then;

O: what do you believe in; mellah weisse?

O: and why = you willing to risk everything doing this?

OC: that would be telling, would it not?

OC: and here, You have not told me what You believe in, nor what You wish to gain by taking a Risk when, I might point out, You truly have Something to lose,

O: you wanna hear it?

OC: I do not,

OC: but rest assured, I have no shortage of Stakes in the Matter,

O: you != really giving me a reason to trust you;

OC: I am not, in Fact, asking that You give me your Trust, only your Cooperation,

OC: after all, unless I am much mistaken, You have already made that Decision, have You not?

O: who says i != just testing the waters;

OC: who, indeed,

OC: then, shall that be all?

OC: You go back to your Deliberation, I would imagine, and I wait a couple of Nights for your next Communication?

O: nah;

O: we meet again; in meatspace;

OC: well, if that Statement is not awfully declarative, I have not heard One that is,

O: that = the next step;

OC: if that is how You so elect, to move forward with a Collaboration between us,

O: you = right; again;

O: i already made that choice; if it = a choice; if the neural interface = real;

O: i have to see how deep the lapine lusus hole goes;

OC: well, in that Case, then I propose You come to my Office,

OC: as early as tomorrow Night, should it please you,

O: sure;

You work out the details, scheduling around a prior engagement of yours, and once you have finished, the window in which your exchange has been taking place vanishes. The disconnect seems particularly abrupt. Little wonder, there. You have hardly hidden the way you are pulling his strings. And who would not resent, when they see the hand which grasps the other end of those filaments?

Certainly not you.

Yet the master puppeteer is one who can work as they please, even though the one at their command can see precisely what they are doing. And you certainly have lofty aspirations, there.

Your scuttlebuggy continues on through the desert, carrying towards the next target of your machinations. One to whom you plan to present a much more agreeable facade. You make your preparations.


	60. ->  Daraya: Make a hasty retreat.

You and Tyzias make it back to your respiteblock to hide out. It’s not the most private spot, since you share it with Wanshi, and the other Jades cannot seem to get it through their pans that no, you don’t want them to come in unannounced and uninvited to tell you all about ht you should be doing with your life. But Wanshi you can deal with-- she’s easy to bribe-- and the rest are mostly busy right now.

Tyzias is slouched up against the wall, sipping from her mug and fiddling with her palmhusk like she’s not just here for your sake. Unless…

Unless she really isn’t just here for your sake. You’re a risk for her. You always have been. And now the both of you have come expression plate-to-expression plate with that and you can’t really blame her if she’s going to tell you off, or cut you out of future operations, or whatever.

You kind of blew it back there.

So you’re kind of dreading it when she asks, “wwwwanna talk about wwwwhat happened back there?”

“∆ no ∇” you huff, which isn’t specifically true.

You do wanna talk about it, but you don’t wanna _ talk _ talk about it. Which you assume is what she means here. Like, tell her why you blew it, and how it’s never gonna happen again, and have her go over how disappointed she is and how much potential she sees in you, if only you would just let the bad attitude go once in a while.

You know, just like Bronya does.

A lump rises in your chugcolumn.

Bronya--

Okay, so like… you always knew she was a bulgesucking toady for the empire, even if _ she _ doesn’t seem to have it figured out. Or at least, you always thought her whole authoritarian shtick was a load of lame hoofbeast manure. But also you always thought it was just all about being really boring?

And well, however horrific, taking part in the active culling of wigglers is… not boring. Don’t get you wrong, it _ sucks _, but… wow.

Never woulda thought she had it in her. You’re almost impressed.

Like, you would be, if you weren’t so busy feeling… what? Shock? Betrayal? Horror?

Fuck it.

Fuck feelings, fuck Bronya for making you have them, and fuck Tyzias for standing there calmly watching you struggle with them.

Fuck.

You think you’re crying again.

“look” Tyzias sighs. “i knowwww you hate hearing about it but you're not the only one wwwwho looks at this wwwwhole shitstormmmm and wwwwants to screammmm”

“∆ then why dont you ∇” you choke.

To your surprise, she doesn’t have an answer ready. She looks down at her mug, swirling the contents. “wwwwho knowwwws?”

You’re struck, suddenly, by how she’s not really all that much older than you. A single sweep, maybe? Maybe two. She just feels older sometimes, because…

You don’t know why.

“∇ arent you angry ∆” you ask.

“i’mmmm fucking furious”

“∆ you dont sound it ∇” She sounds tired, like always.

“wwwwell furious ammmmong other things, for one” She sighs again. “and for twwwwo”

She gives you a look. Maybe even a pointed look.

“for twwwwo if i wwwwas angry all the timmmme i wwwwould be too tired for anything else”

You eye her slouching demeanor and the dark circles under her ganderbulbs skeptically. “∇∇∇ riiiiiiiiiiight ∆∆∆”

“wwwwhat” She snorts. “you think this isn't all for showwww?”

“∇ well is it ∆”

“mmmmaybe” She looks down at her mug, then takes a sip. “i guess it just seemmmms like if the wwwwhole wwwworld is on fire wwwwhats the point of adding to it?” She shrugs.

You frown. It’s not a very satisfying answer. A lot of Tyzias’ answers aren’t very satisfying. You want to keep being angry. You want to scream and break things and you want it to make a difference.

And maybe one day you’ll get that chance.

But not today, and you know it.

“∆ right so ∇” You shuffle a little awkwardly. “∇ that thing i found in the record block ∆”

“yeah?”

“∇ the composition tome ∆”

Tyzias nods.

“∆ i dunno if it was the most recent one but it was recent enough ∇” You pause, steeling yourself.

“∆ it was in bronyas clawscratching ∇”

“wwwwell shit”

You know it doesn’t mean the same thing to Tyzias that it does to you, but… she makes an effort, and you guess that’s all you can ask for. Still, when she leaves not long after, you can’t shake the prickling feeling at the back of your windtunnel.

You’re not done with this little revelation of yours. Or rather, it’s not done with you.

**Author's Note:**

> This adventure does, in fact, have an interactive component! Commands can be input via comment, and the author will do their best to integrate them... somehow.


End file.
